Chapter 3 – "He's Leaving"

Privet Drive was bathed in pleasantly warm sunlight that cut blindingly through the gaps in the curtains of number four and painfully awoke Uncle Vernon, who had been slumped lazily back in an armchair, drooling in his sleep. It was the last day of July, and Vernon would be only too pleased to see the back of this particular month, one that had been far from easy on him.

He had been working a lot harder since his promotion at work, or to be more precise, he had to shout louder at more people for longer periods of time.

"You have to bawl the odds at them morning, noon, and night if you expect any work out of them" he had complained to his family during the first two weeks of his new position, "Only language the ignorant little buggers understand. Bloody unions…"

This was coupled with having to question Dudley about a bottle of fine scotch whiskey that had gone missing from his drinks cabinet, a task that had dragged on for days, as Dudley had usually stormed out of the house, or at least up to his room, whenever he felt accused of being the guilty party. Harry knew for a fact that Dudley had been responsible, and had even witnessed Dudley sneaking in of a night time, reeking of alcohol. He preferred not to voice his suspicions to his aunt or uncle, who would refuse to believe that their cherished son was capable of such delinquent behaviour.

Last but not least, the past few nights of catching only a few hours sleep had made him even more irritable than normal. The police assured him that they were doing everything in their power to apprehend those responsible for the damage, which was no easy task with Uncle Vernon ranting and raving at them over the phone about how much it was costing to have his car repaired, and still he insisted that vigilantism was the only solution.

Upstairs, Harry Potter had been awake for a couple of hours, and had been having mixed thoughts about this, his last day of living under the Dursley's roof. He had been there for sixteen years, and the only happiness he had known was his time at Hogwarts. The Dursleys had made a thorough job of making him feel unwelcome for as long as he could remember, in fact his first bedroom had been the cupboard under the stairs, and any clothing he received had always been that which Dudley had grown out of, often tattered and worn. He had been bullied and humiliated by them on so many occasions that he had stopped counting, but now he was wondering which was worse - all his years in this house or the mortal danger that the outside world now had in store for him.

His reflections were interrupted by the sight of two owls flying towards his bedroom window. He brightened a little and opened the window for them. These were the third and fourth owls of the day so far, the first two having brought birthday gifts from Hagrid (a book called 'Beasts of the Dark Arts', accompanied by a picture of his cottage, now restored after being set on fire by Death Eaters), and from Lupin and Tonks (a book on advanced magical defence and disguise).

Hedwig had become used to strange owls delivering packages here, and so remained quiet and content on her perch. Having given the owls some food and water for their trouble, Harry examined the deliveries. One was a brief letter from Professor McGonagall:

Dear Harry,

I shall be collecting you from your aunt and uncle's house at 5 o'clock this afternoon, so please be ready and waiting at this time. All precautions have been taken in the meanwhile to ensure that no one else will have knowledge of your whereabouts, and certain enchantments have been placed on The Burrow to guarantee your safety during your stay there.

I will of course trust your judgement regarding what need be said to your relatives before you depart, but please exercise both caution and restraint, as these were never your father's strong points, if you get my meaning.

Take care,

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Harry gave a small laugh at this last piece of advice and pocketed the letter. The other item he received was a copy of the Daily Prophet, the preferred newspaper of the magical population. The front page headline screamed 'BREAK-IN AT THE MINISTRY!', accompanied by the moving image of various officials from the ministry of magic attempting to push their way through a small crowd of reporters and onlookers. Harry read the article with great interest.

'Official sources confirmed last night that there has been yet another break-in at the ministry of magic, specifically, in the Department of Mysteries. Though remaining highly secretive over the whole affair, Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour issued the following statement:

"I can now reveal that there has indeed evidence found of an unauthorised entry in the Department of Mysteries. For reasons currently unknown to us, this was only discovered some days after the event took place, and the culprit or culprits appear to have covered their tracks most thoroughly. I am not at liberty to divulge any information regarding any theft of ministry property at present, though further statements will be issued to the press, should it be deemed appropriate. There is no, repeat no evidence whatsoever to suggest that this was the work of those who follow He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and any reports to the contrary are both false and irresponsible. We have many of our staff investigating this affair, and I can assure you that no stone will be left unturned, as we get to the root of the matter"

'We have been refused any further details of the case, but will continue in our efforts to uncover the truth. For all other ministry news, please turn to pages 5-6'

Harry felt a slight sinking feeling in his stomach. News such as this, in his experience, was always a sign of serious trouble on the horizon.

Since his meeting with Professor McGonagall the night before, he had been once again wondering about the Weasleys, and why he hadn't received so much as single owl from them. The fact that they hadn't sent any presents, or even birthday greetings could mean one of two things. Either that they thought they might as well wait for his arrival at The Burrow later in the day or that Ginny had told them of how Harry had broken off their relationship and they would now be looking daggers at him. The latter of these theories would certainly explain why he hadn't heard a word from them since leaving Hogwarts, birthday or no birthday.

The peace was then disturbed by the familiar yell of Uncle Vernon, and with a roll of his eyes, Harry left the quiet of his room and went downstairs, now relieved that this would be his last day in Privet Drive. He wandered into the living room, preparing to be interrogated about this or that.

"Ah, there you are" his uncle observed, with more than a slight hint of contempt in his voice, "Just had old Mrs Figg calling round here, claiming you scared her cats half to death yesterday, and now they won't budge out of doors. Now don't you try wriggling your way out of this one boy! Mad as a brush she may be, but I wouldn't put anything past you, and you're going over there right now to sort this out!"

"Okay, I'm going!" replied Harry abruptly.

Harry had felt far more well-disposed towards Mrs Figg, ever since he had the shock of finding out that she was a squibb, a person of part-magical blood who was nevertheless considered to be neither a wizard nor witch. Knowing full well that his relatives were all blissfully unaware of this, and having a strong feeling that this had nothing to do with her cats, Harry did his best to look indignantly at Uncle Vernon, and then smiled to himself as he left the room.

"Oh, and I told her you'd clean out that filthy guttering of hers too!" his uncle called after him smugly.

This cheered Harry even more, and he added to the desired effect by slamming the door on his way out.

It was a very short walk to Mrs Figg's house, and after ringing the bell, the door was quickly answered. Mrs Figg looked pale, but there was no doubt that she was delighted with her visitor.

"Harry Potter," she said in an awestruck tone that reminded Harry of his first meeting with Dobby the house elf, "my dear boy, come in, come in!"

She gave Harry a warm hug and he followed her into the living room. This was the first time he had received such a welcome from her, as she had been appointed by Dumbledore to watch over Harry whenever possible while he was growing up, and this involved playing the part of an insufferable neighbour to whom the Dursleys would be only too pleased to send Harry when they went out without him.

"I've heard the news that you're leaving today" she said as they sat down.

Harry nodded.

"Well, now you're here, you'd better make yourself useful. There's a tray in the kitchen with a pot of tea and some chocolates" she paused and smiled at him, "but I don't think either of us will need to get up for that now…"

Harry gave a huge grin, drew his wand, and with his heart pounding, summoned the tray in from the kitchen and guided it gently down on to the table in front of them. It was the first time he had been able to legally perform magic outside of school, and Mrs Figg looked as though she would cry tears of joy.

"Oh Harry, well done!" she cried, "You've grown into a fine young wizard, and no mistake!"

This was definitely a comfort to hear, and Harry wished that he had known what his neighbour was really like a long time ago. As various cats made their way in and out of the room, the unavoidable subject of Dumbledore's death arose. They had both been present at the funeral, had both mourned his passing, but Mrs Figg knew perfectly well that she grief she had felt was nothing to Harry's.

"He was a great man, and no one could replace him, Harry" she said, blinking back a tear, "and I know how much you meant to him. Everyone's afraid now. Afraid of what will happen now that he's gone. But I believe that as long as his memory lives on, and as long your courage holds, the Dark Arts will not stand victorious".

Harry sat there, simply wanting to believe everything she said. Even though she did not live in the thick of the wizarding world, Arabella Figg was certainly no stranger to its goings-on. On her travels, she had become familiar with both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons schools of magic, and many of the weird and wonderful creatures that Harry had learned about during his time at Hogwarts.

"Dumbledore kept me informed of how well you were progressing at school, and through all the danger you faced, I always had a feeling that you would come out stronger on the other side. Sixteen years with the Dursleys, for example, isn't something I'd wish on anyone" she shuddered at the thought.

Harry reflected on this time with mixed feelings. Had it been a necessity for him to have been through all that? The abuse, the intimidation, the misery and victimisation? Might he not have become that brave wizard if he had grown up in a loving home?

"You know, I did ask Dumbledore if he would let you live here with me. I asked him after I saw you for the first time, and no matter how many times he told me that you were living with your aunt and uncle for your own protection, I asked him many times more." she smiled, "Though he had the patience and good nature to endure it and repeat himself when he had to."

They both sat there in silence for a few moments, both contemplating what life would have been like Mrs Figg's request had been granted. She then looked at him with great curiosity.

"Tell me something Harry. Did my eyes deceive me at the funeral, or is there a special young lady in your life?"

Harry was finding it hard to look her in the eye at this point.

"There was" he muttered in reply.

"Ah, was it not meant to be?" she enquired.

"She is a special young lady," said Harry, alarming himself that he was confiding this in Mrs Figg of all people, "and I want her to stay that way, which is why I can't be with her."

She nodded in understanding.

"Growing up isn't easy Harry, whether you're a witch, a wizard, a squibb, or a muggle. There are always truths we don't want to face, even though we must."

These words weren't exactly a comfort, but in Harry's case, wiser words were rarely spoken.

After bidding farewell to Mrs Figg, he made his way slowly back to his house, pausing on the way to rub some dirt down his clothes and across his face. He didn't quite relish the idea of being questioned by Uncle Vernon as to why he had returned so fresh in appearance after cleaning out Mrs Figg's guttering. He glanced at his watch. It was half past one. Three and a half hours before he would be leaving Privet Drive for good. Three and a half hours of serious thought.

Uncle Vernon was waiting in the living room for him, attempting to fight back a laugh at seeing Harry covered in mud. Anything to know that little freak was having a taste of 'real work', he thought.

"Ah Harry, Petunia tells me that you're leaving us today."

Harry grunted in the affirmative.

"Well make sure that room of yours is cleared out properly. I've had a view to converting it into a study for some time now." His uncle replied, turning his back.

Harry stood there for a moment in slight disbelief. No matter what else Uncle Vernon was, he was still human (as far as Harry knew), and it was still somewhat difficult to accept that after sixteen years, this was all the man could come out with. So be it, he thought, and tramped back up to his room.

As he opened the door, he was startled by the sudden appearance of Dobby, the house elf, a few yards in front of him.

"Harry Potter sir! So wonderful it is to see the young master come of age!"

Allowing his heartbeat to return to normal, Harry managed a smile.

"Dobby, could you try not to sneak up on me like that? I've got a lot on my mind at the moment."

He was now past caring what his uncle or aunt would do if they saw Dobby in the house, and was a lot calmer about seeing him than he was when Dobby first appeared in his room five years previously, but this was still a jolt to his nerves that he could have done without.

"Oh, Dobby understands sir, but he could not stay away. He wanted to give Harry Potter his birthday present."

Harry sat down beside him and sighed.

"Okay, what did you get me?"

"First of all, this" replied Dobby, handing him a large birthday cake with icing all the colours of the rainbow, spelling 'Happy Birthday' on the top. Harry was a good deal cheered by this, as he still hadn't eaten much that day. He could tell that this was all Dobby's doing from the plasters on his fingers and the flour and icing stains on the pillow case that he always wore.

"And also, Dobby brought Harry Potter something special!" the house elf exclaimed.

He gave Harry a badly wrapped package that he tore open quickly, expecting to find yet another offering of bizarre woollen garments, but instead found himself gaping in astonishment at the contents. It was a finely embroidered wizard's hat.

"But Dobby…this is…how did you…?"

"It was given to Dobby by Professor Dumbledore, sir. He thought Harry Potter would like it for his birthday instead of socks. Was the professor correct sir?"

Harry couldn't help himself. The tears streamed from his eyes and he nodded as he hid his face in his hands, and cried silently. Instead of shuffling about awkwardly, punishing himself for upsetting a wizard, or disappearing into thin air, Dobby put an arm round his shoulder.

"Dobby knows that Harry Potter has suffered, but Harry Potter is strong and will always know what to do!" he said insistently.

Harry held in his hands a hat of Albus Dumbledore's. It was almost too much for him to bear that his mentor, the greatest wizard he had ever known, was dead. For the time being, he couldn't withstand the pain that the sight of this hat was bringing him. He quietly stood up, walked across the room to his trunk, opened it, and placed the hat carefully inside. After drying his tears on the sleeve of his shirt, he turned around and smiled at Dobby, who now was looking decidedly awkward.

"Thank you," he said.

Dobby made a low bow and smiled back.

"Does sir wish to be left alone?"

Now that he considered this, Harry decided that even the company of an emotionally fragile house elf would be welcome.

"No, that's alright, you can stay for a while" he replied, adding absently "would you like a drink or something to eat?"

Now it was Dobby's turn to cry. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realised how they must have sounded to a house elf whose sole purpose had been to serve others. He tried desperately to calm him down, and eventually managed to get some sense out of him.

"Oh, Harry Potter is too kind! Too kind, sir!" spluttered Dobby between sobs.

"No, no, it's okay!" said Harry

"Dobby wishes he had served Harry Potter from the beginning!"

Harry tried not to laugh at the thought of Uncle Vernon's reaction to finding out that there was a house elf in his home, waiting hand and foot on the nephew he so deeply despised.

"Dobby listen, just relax for a while. I need to just clean a few things up in here and then – "

He was then stopped short by the lightning fast blurry shape of Dobby flying around the room, leaving every object spotlessly clean and tidied away in his wake. He couldn't help but be impressed when the poor creature finally reappeared beside him on the bed, not in the least bit short of breath.

"That was amazing! I've seen cleaning spells and charms work fast, but – "

"It is a house elf's job, sir," cut in Dobby with proud sense of duty.

In the time they spent discussing everything from the Malfoys (during which Harry had tried to cheer Dobby up with the tale of when Draco had been transfigured into a ferret at school, though subsequently had to prevent Dobby from throwing himself through the window for laughing at his old masters) to what the house elves at Hogwarts had been told about any changes to school routine over the coming year (Dobby had not yet been informed and had thought it impertinent to ask the new headmistress about this), there were only two loud interruptions from Uncle Vernon, and these were simply to ensure that he would be leaving his bedroom immaculately tidy. This led Harry to believe that Aunt Petunia had somehow intervened, though how she would have done this without arousing suspicion from her husband, he had not the faintest idea.

While levitating various objects around the room, Harry brought his birthday cake floating before him, which reminded both of them how Dobby had used a similar charm on a large dessert of the Dursleys' with disastrous consequences, one evening shortly before the start of Harry's second year at Hogwarts. Dobby smiled guiltily at this and even laughed a little.

Harry glanced at his watch and realised with horror how the time had passed. He now had only half an hour until the arrival of Professor McGonagall. He quickly wrapped up the cake and stored it in his trunk, along with his with his other books and the photos he had been given by Aunt Petunia.

"I don't mean to be rude Dobby, but I have to be going soon, and I think you'd better be making yourself scarce. I just don't want my aunt and uncle finding you here. The faster I can see the back of this place, the better."

Dobby nodded and smiled, gesturing that no explanation was necessary, winked at Harry, and disapparated with a 'pop'. Harry wasted no time in lugging his heavy trunk downstairs, and as usual, his uncle emerged into the hallway to demand what "all the bloody racket" was about.

"Well", said Harry, drawing his wand "there is another way I could move it, but – "

"Alright, alright, just put that confounded thing away, we'll have none of your conjuring tricks here!" Uncle Vernon hissed.

Harry grinned at this, and pulled his trunk the rest of the way into the hall. Moments later, Aunt Petunia came out of the kitchen and hovered awkwardly in the hallway, waiting for Harry to return with Hedwig.

"So, uh when is your teacher collecting you?" she asked, trying to sound as numb as possible, as he descended the stairs.

"She should be getting here at five" he replied.

After a long pause, she said quietly "Well, you can wait in the living room until she arrives. I know it can get a bit cold up there".

Even though this was his plan anyway (despite the twitching, pacing, and generally annoying presence of Uncle Vernon on such occasions), the fact that she was actually inviting him in was breaking the habit of a lifetime. As he sat down on the sofa, Uncle Vernon had already began his pacing, and comments such as "That room of yours had better be clear for when I move my desk in." and "All I hope is that this one has the decency to use the front door."

Uncle Vernon had been infuriated with the manner in which wizards had invaded his home in the past, and was now crossing his fingers that he would not be subjected to the same grand entrance of three years ago, when four members of the Weasley family had demolished the fireplace and a portion of the surrounding wall after arriving via the chimney.

Harry was still quietly fuming that although these would be his final minutes in this house, he hadn't heard so much as a "Good luck" from his uncle, only his usual grumbling. The time was ticking by, and it was only at five to five that Uncle Vernon swooped down upon Harry with sudden inspiration.

"And you'd better not have been light-fingered around this house, boy! How am I to know what you've got in that trunk that isn't yours?"

This was the last straw. The red mist came over Harry's eyes, and he leapt up in a rage, standing nose to nose with his uncle. Aunt Petunia stood rooted to the spot in panic at the edge of the room. There were so many things Harry could say right now. So much negative emotion to express. So much anger, hatred, grief, and resentment that could have fired out of his mouth. The storm was just about to break when the sound of Dudley's bedroom door opening came from upstairs. All at once, Harry calmed himself.

"I'm, uh just going out dad" Dudley called out.

"Okay Dudders, see you later" Uncle Vernon replied breezily, before returning the venomous stare to his nephew.

"I'm not the thief around here," said Harry coldly.

"And what exactly do you mean by THAT!" seethed his uncle.

Harry then pushed him aside, spun into the hallway and drew his wand in one swift motion.

"LEVICORPUS!" he yelled, and before Dudley could open the front door, he cried out in painful surprise as he found himself being hoisted upside down by his ankle until his foot was touching the ceiling. Both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia rushed into the hall, wailing in alarm at the sight of their son being suspended in the air by what seemed to be an invisible force, with his sports bag still hanging from his shoulder. Vernon looked to be on the point of choking Harry to death, and was only restrained by the sight of the wand that was now turned on him.

"You get him down this instant!" he shouted, "I'll have you locked up for this, you ungrateful little circus freak!"

"Please Harry, just stop this!" moaned Aunt Petunia.

Harry turned back to his near hysterical cousin.

"Accio Lochnagar!" he cried.

Dudley's bag split open, and Uncle Vernon stared in amazement as his prized bottle of matured scotch whiskey came flying out of it towards him, half empty. The rest of the bag's contents, including cigarettes, an airgun, and Uncle Vernon's pack of rude playing cards had spilled out on to the floor. Uncle Vernon himself looked as if the large vein in his head was about to burst through, but was too dumbfounded to speak.

There came a knock on the front door, but no one moved. Lowering his wand slightly, Harry walked towards the door, muttering "Liberacorpus" as he passed Dudley, who then fell with a crash to the ground and lay there whimpering, and opened it.

Professor McGonagall looked through the door, first at Harry, then at the wretched and fearful shape of his cousin on the floor, and finally at his aunt and uncle who could do nothing but gape speechlessly. Harry wasn't sure whether this was because of the magic he had performed, which his guardians had loathed in every way, or because of the revelation that their darling son Dudley was not the picture of innocence that they believed him to be.

"Everything alright here, Potter?" she enquired casually.

"Yes, everything's just fine" he replied, reaching for the handle of his trunk, "we were just sorting out a small misunderstanding."

"Would you like a moment to say your farewells?"

Harry looked back at his aunt and uncle, and then at his cousin, sorely tempted to give him the same pig's tail that Hagrid had given him six years ago, possibly accompanied with a snout for good measure.

"I think some things are best left unsaid."

"As you wish,", smiled the headmistress, "I have had permission from the ministry for us to travel to the Burrow by a portkey," she continued, conjuring a silver plate out of the air.

Harry understood, and placed Hedwig's cage on top of his trunk. Professor McGonagall took out her wand and pointed it at the plate in her other hand.

"Portus," she whispered.

Tightly gripping the handle of his trunk, Harry Potter took one last look around the home he had endured since he was one year old. Nodding resolutely, he grasped the plate and vanished, along with his teacher and all his possessions, leaving the Dursely family to wonder in astonishment about what they had just witnessed, and live under the pretence that they had never in fact met their extraordinary nephew.