disclaimer in first chapter
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we dream of greatness
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Excerpt from the Morning Edition of 'At Home in Little Whinging':
"…and on this fine autumn morning, we bring you news of a shocking event that occurred late last night, after many of you were safe asleep in your beds. Daniela Stundard tells us about how her husband was coming home late from work last night, only to be attacked in his car, at the stoplight on the corner of Privet Drive and 113th street. Mrs. Stundard continues on to recount her husband's horrific encounter with a man identified and confirmed by local police to be Sirius Black.
Sirius Black is the highly dangerous criminal we profiled in the Evening Edition of November the 12th. As you should all remember, Black was convicted of the murder of fourteen people five years ago. He escaped from his high-security, solitary confinement prison cell two weeks ago.
Mrs. Stundard tells us Black broke the driver side window of her husband's car and dragged Mr. Stundard through it bodily. Black then proceeded to demand the where-a-bouts of, as of this moment, an unknown individual named Harry Potter. When Mr. Stundard could not answer Black, Black beat him into unconsciousness and fled the scene. Other than Mr. Stundard, who is now in hospital recovering from injuries that have left him paralyzed from the neck down, no witnesses have come forward. We at the Morning Edition urge the public to be on high-alert and to not venture anywhere alone. Black is reportedly unarmed, but that does not mean he is not capable of obtaining a weapon, or that he is not a weapon on his own. Police will also be patrolling the streets of Little Whinging by night.
If anyone has any information regarding this crime, or the unknown Mr. Harry Potter, we beg them to come forward to their nearest police station, no names are required.
The Morning Edition has set up a fund for Mr. Stundard's..."
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When everyone was gone from the house, it was understood that Harry was to retire to his cupboard after his morning chores and remain there until he was called upon later in the day. Yet, so long as he was careful to ensure he left no traces behind, and he was in the cupboard with the light on, door shut, and broken little toys out when his Aunt returned, he had free reign of the house.
The Dursleys never locked anything (excepting the moments they locked Harry in his cupboard for misbehaviour, however, that rarely happened anymore) but the front door when they left, trusting and arrogant that their word was law to the supposedly beaten and broken little boy.
As soon as the car disappeared from Harry's sight down the road, he got up and ran to the kitchen. Dragging the chair Dudley had left in front of the kitchen television, he used it to crawl onto the counter beside the fridge. From the cupboard there, he withdrew two of the many boxes of sugary snacks Petunia kept for Dudley. As long as he was sure to leave the wrappers in the garbage in Dudley's room, no one would be the wiser to his pilfering of them – Aunt Petunia cleaned Dudley's room when she got back from walking him to school.
He took two granola bars and a soda-pop packet and replaced the boxes. The snacks went into his one good pocket and he looked around quickly before setting out to clean the kitchen.
When he was done, he went back to his spot by the window and emptied the goodies onto the sill and hid them behind the curtain. He seemed to know instinctively that a little paranoia was better than to be caught defying his controllers. He deposited the wrappers in his cousin's room and ran back down stairs to enjoy both his treats – the food and Outside.
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Harry's eyes were fixated on a meandering figure, one that was making its almost drunken way down the sidewalk across the lane. Normally he only saw people in cars pass by, or perhaps someone jogging; an elderly person walking a dog if he was lucky. So this figure instantly captured Harry's attention.
The erratic figure was a man, as far as Harry could tell, and he was rather unkempt. He had scraggly, dirty, thick elbow-length hair. He was wearing torn, voluminous, indiscernible black clothing, and he was just the sort of character Harry knew his relatives wouldn't approve of. Perhaps that was why the man interested Harry so much.
Harry watched intently as the man made his way down the street opposite number four and crossed, pausing for a moment in front of number five. The man's eyes constantly roved his surroundings. Within moments, he moved on, eyes still darting about, pace still erratic, and apparently talking to himself. He seemed a little oblivious for a moment before coming to a dead halt again – in front of number four.
The figure turned slowly, eyes closed and nostrils flaring. Harry kept his gaze steady on the man, though he could see a woman jogging her way up the street from the right (joggers were his favourite). The next moments were so swift in their happening, Harry almost thought that he'd blinked, save for the excitement he felt in his stomach.
The man opened his eyes slowly – grey, like thunderclouds – and, almost unerringly, met Harry's gaze through the window. To Harry, the man seemed so much closer it must have been impossible. Harry knew no one could see him unless they were standing in the garden…yet, he also knew that this dirty, dishevelled man was staring straight at him.
Time seemed almost to stand still, and Harry fancied he could see the man mouthing his name.
The moment was broken, however, as the woman jogging made her way closer to number four. The man jumped and swivelled wide, wild eyes towards her before disappearing with what Harry would swear was a quiet cracking noise, even though he knew he couldn't have possibly have been close enough to here something so faint.
Harry gave the woman jogging a dirty look and finished his treat. After systematically removing every crumb from the sill and the floor, he smudged out the imprint his form left in the carpet with his hand and retreated to his room. There was nothing he'd dare do now that his aunt might return at any moment, so he decided to go read the book he'd pilfered from Dudley's second bedroom.
It was about a boy named Arthur and a wizard named Merlin. It was the most interesting book Harry had ever laid his hands on. It was almost as good as the book the old lady who used to take care of him when he was too young to take care of himself read to him – something about a witch and a wardrobe. That had been a long time ago and he couldn't really remember much about the book, just that he'd really really like it. The story had made him proud of having his cupboard.
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Hours later, Harry had finished the book (the boy had become a king by drawing a sword from a stone!) and wondered where his Aunt was. He crept out of his room quietly and made his way to the living room, where he could see the road. But there was no sign of his Aunt anywhere.
As he sat curled up on the floor, staring out the window, he tried to figure out where his Aunt could be when she'd always returned to give him work, without fail, after bringing his Cousin to School every weekday as long as he could remember. Presently a noise came to distract his thoughts.
In fact, it was more than one noise, it was a series of noise. Tinkling noises, rustling noises, clanking and banging noises, and, as he drew closer to the back door, heavy breathing noises.
No! What if it was his Aunt, gone out back to retrieve something from the shed? She probably had come home and Harry had been too engrossed in his story to notice. She probably had rapped on his door and demanded that he help. She would be mad now! Harry quickly opened the back door, it not registering in his mind that if his Aunt Petunia had gone out that way, the door wouldn't be locked and would most likely have been left open.
"Aunt Petunia, it's me, I'm sorry, I'm really really sorry! The door got stuck and it took time to get it open! Here I'll take i…" The person that greeted him on the other side of the door wasn't his Aunt Petunia. It wasn't even a person.
It was the filthiest, most snarlingist dog he had ever seen. He stepped back in fear of the great black beast that the dog was and frantically searched his mind for a solution to this problem.
He was about to slam the door shut and lock it (the dog hadn't crossed the threshold yet) when that part of his mind, the part that he trusted unquestioningly to always lead him right, told him different. Instead, he took a deep breath and moved back, out of the way.
The dog looked a little surprised and Harry wondered if that was possible. Then, the animal moved off the porch and into the house. Harry edged around it and shut the door, pressing himself against the white portal. The back door entrance way was not much bigger than his little cupboard and the dog's shoulders came up to his own. Bracing a hand on the dog's back, he edged his way back in front of it and frowned. Now what?
In the next instant, the dog licked his face. Just as suddenly, the dog was gone.
As was the back door, the hallway, the stand of shoes, the table with the vase of chrysanthemums on it.
Harry woke up. He pushed the open book off his chest and it made a muffled thump when it hit the floor.
He could hear someone moving about the house.
He knew instinctively that it wasn't Aunt Petunia.
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