A/N: I have to admit that this chapter gave me a headache. I had originally written another version of this, but at the last minute I decided to change it as I wasn't completely happy with it. As a result I am hoping that the decision to change it was worth it, and that you all enjoy it.
Thought I should also state (to avoid confusion) that events which occur in the Potter series, have been alter slightly inorder to fit better with my plot line.
Feedback is always greatly welcomed, especially considering the throbbing pain in my temples, that I still have as a result of writing this.
Enjoy!
Chapter 3: Home is where the heart is?
The Dursleys hated all things magical, not to mention anything to do with Harry Potter. So all in all, Harry would not have rated himself particularly high on their respectability list. He guessed certain occurrences like blowing up his aunt, daring midnight absconding in a flying Ford Anglia and a levitating pudding zooming across the kitchen, might possibly have contributed towards such an attitude. But none of it was really his fault! He may have been an unwilling participator; for the most part, and an unknowing instigator to such things. But it was hardly fair to just blame him.
So he figured that it was pretty well safe to say, that the Dursley's opinions, would not be changing any time soon. It did have the unfortunate effect of making his summer holiday an unbearably long, drawn out and miserable experience. And though it sounded like a tragically, pathetic exaggeration, it was actually spectacularly true.
While they were not trying to starve him out of existence. (Dudley's; which of course meant everyone else's, new forced upon diet). They were trying to finish him off through that age old worn out ploy of death by boredom. Constantly barring him from anything of interest, and forcing him to wander aimlessly in the streets to avoid the constant frowning, growling and the grinding of teeth whenever he was in the same room as any of them.
It was not as if he had any choice in the matter. If Harry had his way, he would have chosen to stay at Hogwarts. Even though, his fourth year had ended rather tragically. He had not yet quite gotten over the shock of losing Diggory, and to be honest Harry wondered if he ever would. But despite this, Hogwarts was his home.
Unfortunately it was still the summer. And though for anyone else it would have been a cause of celebration, for Harry it was dire. His one saving grace however, came in the ginger headed form of his best friend Ron's family, the Weasleys.
He longed for the time when he would be back amongst them and once more delighting in Mrs. Weasleys excellent cooking and in less than an hour's time, he would be doing just that.
As he sat staring listlessly out his bedroom window, he began to wonder what method of transportation he would be using this time. Previous exertions to The Burrow had proven various in their strangeness, so he couldn't help but dwell on the prospect without an ounce of trepidation. He knew the Dursleys couldn't handle anymore weirdness; thanks to pervious exertions, so the matter did create for one of giddy expectation. Which when sat as he was at his desk; that fitted rather snugly in his cramped little bedroom, had him vaulting out of his chair to pace rather manically in anticipation.
The minutes soon began to tick down as the sky outside turned steadily blacker. At eleven o'clock this very night, he would once again be waving goodbye to muggle life. With this comforting thought circulating his mind, Harry plunked himself back on to his chair and turned an avid gaze upon his alarm clock, feeling as he did his stomach flutter as the clock face showed there were only seconds left to go.
'Five, four.' Harry began counting down in his head. "Three, two...One."
Eleven O'clock.
The wind still blew solemnly against the window pane; Hedwig still screeched her protests of being confide in her cage and nothing remotely out of the norm happen.
With a look of utter indignation on his face, Harry turned to Hedwig. "Where are...?" BANG!
A deafening sound shattered the silence outside. The sudden and unexpectedness of it nearly knocking Harry clean off his seat, forcing him to grab at his desk before he lost his balance completely. Quickly straightening himself, he made for the window, upturning his chair in his eagerness. Pressing his nose flat against the cold glass he suddenly smiled in rapture, for their under the orange gleam of the street lamps was none other than the knight Bus. Three floors tall and a garish purple it stood glaringly out of sorts admits the stridently clean streets of Privet Drive. For a moment panic gripped him but as he squashed his face against the window pane, he soon realized that his anxiety was unnecessary. For within every house the artificial blue glow of television sets or the blacken windows of sleeping individuals, did not for once twitch with the curious stares of nosey neighbours.
Chuckling to himself Harry quickly gathered up his belongings. He had; for once, packed that very morning, shortly after the delivery owl had arrived with the letter that now lay crumpled upon his desk, crudely covered in his best friend Ron's writing, inviting him to spend rest of the holidays at his home at The Burrow.
Once certain that he had gathered everything; which included a few forgotten spell books and some last minute gathering of extra underwear, he grabbed Hedwig's cage and flew to the bedroom door.
Running out of his bedroom at full pelt; or as quickly as one could with a trunk full of school provisions and a screeching owl in tow, he rushed down the stairs and headed for the front door.
Unfortunately his over zealousness did make for a rather noisy procession as; for each pounding step he took, a resounding BOOM followed as his trunk ricocheted behind him. The resulting racket bringing with it the stern and slightly hassled faces of the Dursleys. Bustling out of the living room, three sets of eyes glared at him. The doubled chinned; no necked and beat root red faced squint of Vernon Dursley, the equally chubby and whale like physic of Dudley and the bony, horse faced stare of his aunt Petunia.
"What the heck is all that racket about boy?" Upon which spotting Harry's school trunk, uncle Vernon quickly amended the answer with. "Them freaks come for you then?"
Glaring in response Harry grunted his reply, then without a word of goodbye from either party he simply left. As he dashed outside Harry thought he ought to have at least a small tinge of remorse that he would once again be leaving them for the best part of a year. Or some sort of show of regret that their time together was anything but loving. But instead found that he really didn't care. So shrugging of these disheartening contemplations, he eagerly made his way along Magnolia Crescent and headed into Magnolia Road.
It was a cool evening that greeted him. Not that unusual when considering the natural fluctuations of the British's weather; that did tend to favour the habit of producing all four seasons in one day. Yet all the same, the slight chill that settled upon his person did leave him with a sense of unashamed dread.
Now that Lord Voldermort's return was finally out, every darken building he passed looked sinister. Every stir of wind seemed inclined to breath Harry's name. The frequented and well acquainted sights of Little Whinging now appeared harsh and disturbing in the converted moonlight, that even the short walk to the knight bus seemed fraught with peril.
'It's all in your mind.' Harry told himself diligently, as his heart pounded within his chest. 'Nothing is going to attack you here.' Though images of an enormous pale eyed, jet black dog and an over enthusiastic house elf, did roam the recesses of his mind. They may have turned out to be good and on his side, but that was beside the point right now. Especially when he was fighting against his body's in-determined urge, to either shiver or sweat in fright.
So with steps noticeably quickening, Harry ran the remaining few yards.
As he finally drew level with the vibrant bus, by which point he was panting enough that he practically keeled over with exhaustion. He realized just how unaware and ignorant muggles really were of the magical world. The fact that a three tiered bus stood in the middle of the street without a single resident noticing, was truly amazing.
Clutching at an agonizingly huge stitch in his side, Harry sucked in the air as an all too familiar voice greeted him.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wiz..."
"Yeah, yeah I know." Harry interrupted, while desperately trying to control his breathing.
"What you panting for, you been runnin' from somethin'?" Was the squinty eyed response of the ever inquisitive Stan Shunpike, the knight bus' very own pimply conductor. Who upon catching sight of Harry's dishevelled and utterly exhausted demeanour craned his neck in; judging by the light that danced within his eyes, a rather excited manner.
"I'm not running from anything." Slightly perturbed by Stan's eagerness.
"Choo run for then?" Stan persisted while he strained his neck further, his gaze sweeping back and forth over the deathly silent street.
"Didn't want to miss the bus." Harry invented, all the while frowning in annoyance as Stan continued his vigil. He wasn't about to admit that he had been scared.
"No chance of that Harry." Harry's face split into an enormous smile, as Mr. Weasley's sturdy frame pushed passed the annoying conductor. "Molly would kill me if I turned up without you."
Laughing for the first time in what felt like weeks, Harry turned to rummaged within his trunk. If he remembered correctly it was eleven Stickles for the privilege to ride on the Knight Bus. So as quickly as he could, he extracted his money bag, fished out the silver coins and shoved them into Stan's hand; which had the satisfying affect of snapping him out of his retrieve, before finally climbing aboard.
Smiling at Ernie Prang; the thick bespectacled elderly wizard who drove the bus, Harry with Mr. Weasley's help struggled to move his luggage to the back. As the impossible feat was finally reach, Harry began to realize that he recognized several faces as he passed.
"Wotcha Harry." Was the somewhat forlorn greeting by the strangely dull haired complexion of Tonks.
"Hello Harry." This from the unfortunately scruffy appearance of his friend Remus Lupin. Who; judging by his rather diminished state, must have been suffering terribly as a result of the numerous restrictions that the ministry were enforcing every day. The strain of which; including the lack of work for magical beast, was clearly beginning to have an effect on poor Lupin, who despite his weary state offered Harry a hearty smile.
And of course there was no mistaking the grizzled looking, mismatched eyed appearance of ex aura Mad-Eye Moody, who growled out his interpretation of a welcome. "About time."
Not wanting to make a point that it was in fact they who were late, Harry instead sat himself on one of the many randomly assorted chairs that the Knight bus offered. Gripping tight to Hedwig's cage as it rested on his knees. He remembered only too well, that the Knight Bus tended to jostle people about somewhat.
"What are you all doing here?" Harry decided was perhaps the better option to take.
"Can't let a lad like you wonder about unprotected, be killed in a heartbeat by some mad loon wanting to prove his worth." Moody barked back.
Harry rather resented that. Casting a somewhat solemn looked at his escort, Harry mentally fumed inside. Hadn't he proven to them that he was capable of looking after himself. Shouldn't his numerous encounters with Voldermort, and the fact that he was still alive mean anything at all?
"Why the knight bus Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked with an obvious strain to his voice. "Wouldn't floo power or broomsticks have been quicker?"
"Quicker yes Harry but not as safe." Mr. Weasley agreed as he settled himself next to Harry with a relived sigh. "We have reason to believe the floo network is being monitored and as for broomsticks, well let's just say with everything that has been going on lately a more quainter method of transportation would be more prudent."
"Safer too." Mad-Eye broke in. "They wouldn't be expecting it." Nodding in a rather satisfied sort of way.
"Why would the Ministry be bothering, I mean now that Voldermort is active, surely they have better things to be doing?"
A look pasted between Mr. Weasley and Lupin so quickly, that if he hadn't have been watching them both intently he would have missed it. As it was, Mr. Weasley hesitated slightly before responding.
"Well, well it may not necessarily be just the Ministry that are watching Harry. Now that certain things have been voiced, there has been upheaval and chaos everywhere. No one knows who to trust anymore."
"We can't be sure about who maybe controlling things." Lupin added gravely. "It's best not to place ourselves in unnecessary danger Harry, at least not until we are sure the risk is worth it. And with Dumbledore away at the moment."
"Dumbledore's gone? Where?" Harry broke in astounded.
"We're not entirely sure." Lupin replied with a frown. "But I'm sure he'll be back in time for the trial."
"Trial? Who's...?"
"Enough talk." Mad-Eye growled as his magical eye whizzed in the direction of Stan, who was poorly trying to carry off a rather pathetic interpretation of a sly look at their party.
With a host of eyes suddenly turned upon him; and none too friendly in appearance, Stan; not surprisingly, quickly realized that he had been caught out. So clearing in throat fussily, he turned somewhat reluctantly to Ernie and gave his infamous command.
"Take 'er away, Erin."
Then with a tremendous BANG, the Knight Bus sped into life.
The light from the fireplace fell across the room, creating an odd mixture of grotesque forms and strange shadows. It was enough to inspire fear in the best of people. But this was his home after all, and here he should not have been afaired.
Yet he was.
With a sickening feeling of both suspense and fear churning his stomach, Lucius approached the fireplace with a host of trepidation. There seemed a strange stillness over everything, an atmosphere of sorts that suffocated all who entered it. And it appeared to radiate from one source.
It was no secret that the Dark Lord was displeased, considering his failed attempt to kill the Potter boy last year. But how was he, Lucius to be held accountable for it?
He chanced a glance over at Narcissa; who upon entering had retreated to a corner, and now stood almost hidden admits the gloom of the room. Where upon which, he received a heartening look of tenderness and admiration. It was a small gesture, a simple act of encouragement but it was enough to lend him the strength needed to complete the remaining distance.
He finally drew level with the fireplace, choosing to stand to one side, though a little behind the figure before it; it was an unconscious act of subservience but one in which he fell into automatically. Placing himself at the disposition of the other, Lucius stood with lowered head and respectful eyes before speaking.
"You sent for me my Lord?" Nothing. No reply, no hint of acknowledgement. "My... My lord?"
Still nothing. He opened his mouth to push the matter, but movement at the edge of his prolific vision stopped him. Narcissa's elegant frame shimmered in the half light, as she vigorously shook her head. So taking the hint he waited.
They simply stood there, the time seeming to stretch endlessly as Lucius waited for a response. The crackling of the embers steadily seeped into the quite. Their warm colours and pleasant sounds were beautiful; sensual infact, and so poignantly out of place against the pressing feel of the room, that it was actually creepy.
"You will not disappoint me again Lucius?" The Dark Lord suddenly replied.
"N...no my lord." Stumbling a little over the unexpectedness of the question.
"There is a means in which you can redeem yourself." The Dark Lord turned then. So slowly, it was as if he intended to impress upon the moment. "A way in which you can help make this right." A manic fury flared in his eyes.
It was an almost graceful gesture of his hand, which made Lucius draw back suddenly. The pasty pale, bone white sharp tips that reached out to touch him.
He could barely repress a shudder; how could he not, for a few seconds he had thought the hands; that now stroked his head in comfort, had been about to reach out and tear at his throat. Anything was possible with the Dark Lord. But debase savagery?
"I serve you devotedly my lord." Lucius finally managed to stammer out. A horrible feeling of nausea washed over him. A sense of utter dread and relief so profound that he knew he had failed to conceal his distress. The grim sort of a smile that the Dark Lord offered him, was evidence enough of that.
"I am relying on you Lucius. It has to be a performance worthy of applause. They need to believe you. I'm putting all my faith into you. You will not disappoint me?"
Lucius bowed his head in acceptance.
This was his home after all, and here he should not have been afaired.
Yet he was.