Chapter Two

– NIGHT KNOCKER –

Quickly, Harry whipped his glasses on, and tugged out a Lux Lamp from under his bed (he was too agitated and frightened to get out of bed and turn on the lights). Unlike normal lamps, this magical one bought from Dervish & Banges shone brighter than the sun and only went out after a year of use, so it was generally a pain to look at. He usually kept it stuffed under the bed, tight and surrounded by many layers of clothing, so he wouldn't have trouble sleeping at night. It was a burden, however, to yank the lamp out from under the bed and by the time he finally got it out, the knocking had stopped.

Breathless as if he had just been in a running race, he held one hand to his burning, agonised scar and the other held the Lux Lamp an arm's length away. Squinting, Harry raised the lamp to the window, but Harry could see nothing there. Slowly, he circled the room with the lamp in his hands but he found nothing. It could've been a bird, Harry reasoned, and decided that it was, in fact, a bird.

Relieved, Harry went back to bed, stuffing the Lux Lamp unceremoniously under the bed, loosely this time. No sooner had Harry just started getting comfortable did the knocking begin again, this time on the exterior wall.

Harry whipped his sheets off and hastily put on his glasses and took out the lamp again. Scrutinising the room, he hoisted the lamp up and walked around the small bedroom. Again, he found nothing out of the ordinary.

Apprehensive now, he went back to bed face up, his glasses still on his face and the Lux Lamp in his hand. He waited minutes, but the sinister knocking did not return. Grateful, Harry set his glasses on the table and began to doze off, the Lux Lamp slipping from his fingers –

The damn knocking again.

Harry knew that if he got up it would disappear, and when he went back to bed it would return, so he stayed, listening to the eerie tapping noise, more like a sharp, incredibly pointy fingernail tapping against glass, rather than knocking. It chilled Harry's blood to his bones, turning his insides to slush. It was horrible, and it was certain this was no bird. It wasn't like a movie, where birds knocked on glass with their beak to annoy somebody and keep them awake. This sound resonated throughout Harry's whole body, and didn't annoy him so much as petrified him to the very core.

Could it be a magical creature? It probably was, now that Harry thought about it. Was it Voldemort? No, Voldemort was feeble, weak and without a proper body; Harry had learned that from his chilling dream. Was it somebody playing a prank on him, like Fred and George Weasley? If it was, it was a sick and a weak joke. 4 Privet Drive was supposed to be secured by Dumbledore, but could a dark magical creature working for Voldemort penetrate the protective enchantments? Could something get through the defences?

The knocking was still continuing and as soon as Harry got up, it ceased.

And as soon as Harry went down, it began again. "Shut up," Harry hissed, trying to make sure his voice didn't tremble.

And the knocking did stop, for a few seconds, and it began again. But this time, terrifyingly, the knocking came, not from the outside of the house or the window, but outside his bedroom door. From the light expelling from the Lux Lamp, Harry saw goose pimples on his arm and he felt cold wash over him.

He stayed up all night because of this, and the tapping continued ceaselessly. Finally, it seemed like Harry managed to fall asleep because of utter exhaustion and when he woke up, there was still that endless, terrifying knock, rhythmically sounding like a beat to a song.

And Harry was paralysed in fear, his eyes shut tight as the knocking from the door stopped and started – but now it was inside the room, everywhere. Pattering on his trunks, his books, the hollow sound of his broom, rapping on his ceiling, his floorboards, and, eventually, his bed.

Harry didn't dare open his eyes as the tapping increased, louder and louder, quicker and quicker, resounding against the wood of Harry's bedframe.

The thing crept underneath Harry's bed, sound and feeling rumbling beneath him, and then it swiftly changed to above the bed. Harry felt something that felt like a spider with spikes for legs brush past his torso and he gasped. The thing crept past Harry's body and – now Harry shuddered and shivered – reached Harry's head. Now Harry realised the tapping was probably it walking, the same horrible noise resonant every time. The thing's legs – fingers? – grazed Harry's neck and reached his face, running a claw down his cheek and drawing blood. It scuttled over his face, and Harry discovered newfound understanding for Ron's fear of spiders. The thing – probably not a spider, but still – was a creature, a critter, with several limbs, and even without looking at it, it was horrifying. It made a threatening, menacing noise every time it walked and Harry felt like a coward, moaning as the thing brushed over his face and walked away. There was a louder sound, like somebody heavy walking – was the thing bringing more of its friends? As the sound of the thing receded, Harry felt a burning curiosity inside him and opened his eyes, whipping out the lamp in front of him.

Instead of a monstrous spider or a ghostly beast like he'd imagined, there was Uncle Vernon at the doorway, having swung the door open the same time Harry swung the lamp up. Uncle Vernon was swearing and shielding his eyes from the light, and Harry, disappointed, deduced that he had been too late to open his eyes and the creature had escaped. Additionally, the sound of someone heavy walking actually was somebody heavy – Uncle Vernon – walked up the stairs.

"TURN THE BLOODY LIGHT OFF!" Uncle Vernon roared and Harry swore the room shook.

Harry, who did not want to tell Uncle Vernon that he was using a magical lamp – that could not be turned off – in his home, said, "Um", and then stuffed the lamp as deeply as he could in his bed sheets, blocking out the light.

"Finally!" Uncle Vernon barked, and Harry now felt uncomfortable. His uncle was coming to his room an awful lot lately, and Harry didn't like what that meant. Blinking, his uncle stared at Harry. "Now, what was that damn awful tapping noise going on through the bloody night? Some people are trying to sleep."

"Er – I have a tapping habit," said Harry lamely.

However, Uncle Vernon found this explanation suitable enough. "Fine. FIX IT!"

Harry refrained from pointing out that Uncle Vernon had a habit of sneaking tub loads of ice cream into the house when Aunt Petunia was out with her friends, and eating the whole lot before Petunia came home, and he never made an attempt to fix it.

Then Uncle Vernon switched on the light and frowned at Harry. "Why've you got a gash on your cheek?"

Harry realised he was talking about the cut the thing had given him. "Oh – that? Um, that's nothing."

"Right then," Uncle Vernon said, sounding suspicious. "Well, Petunia and I are gong out buying more – vegetables so, we won't be having breakfast til later."

"Right," Harry said.

Uncle Vernon peered warily but moved away anyway, and Harry felt himself relax as Uncle Vernon left, calling back and saying, "Don't touch anything, don't eat anything, don't do anything remotely strange! Stay inside your room until we come back."

He slumped into bed, and thought about what to do next. He had spent most of last night awake, petrified of the monster tapping and knocking at his bedroom door the whole time. Even if this wouldn't continue tonight, Harry felt like telling someone. His first thought went to Hermione, his extremely clever best friend going into fourth year like him. If she didn't know, then nobody would, maybe with the exception of Dumbledore or Lupin, neither of whom Harry felt like contacting as of yet.

Ron, Harry's other best friend, wouldn't know, and he would most likely worry or tell his dad. Harry didn't need that, so he began writing a letter to Hermione.

Dear Hermione,

Thanks so much again for that brilliant birthday present you gave me. That book – Quidditch Teams in the United Kingdom? – really great. I'm OK right now – well, as OK as you can be living with the Dursleys. What about you?

I was just writing to you about something that happened to me yesterday. While I was in bed, there was this continuous tapping noise and it went on for the entire night, and it was really chilling. I think it might be a magical creature, because it came inside my room and I felt it crawl all over me. It was scary, but it wasn't like a Dementor or a Boggart. It felt more … panicky, than dreadful or fearful. Tell me what you can – and there's no need to contact Dumbledore, Lupin, Sirius or Ron's dad.

Do you know anything like it? Thanks, Hermione, I really miss you and Ron.

Also, I've been having strange dreams about Wormtail and possibly Voldemort and my scar's hurt. Don't worry too much – I'm probably over-exaggeration. I just wanted you to know.

Thanks again, Harry.

He gave it to Hedwig, and watched his snowy owl fly off into the horizon, where the sun rose, and Harry supposed he'd better do his homework, when his uncle and aunt weren't in the house. Dudley might rat Harry out, but Dudley was probably playing video games or whatever.

It was early August, and Harry didn't have much time to finish all his assignments, having left them until later. He needed to finish an essay about Protective and Defensive Charms and their uses for Professor Flitwick, another one for Snape – Harry's least favourite professor – about Polyjuice Potion (luckily, he and his friends had used the particular potion in their second year and Harry had learned quite a lot about it because of this), a History of Magic composition about the fifteen goblin rebellions in history, and a piece of writing for Astronomy about each planet of the solar system and their moons. He also needed to rewrite and edit his poorly written papers for Defence, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures and Divination.

He got out his quill, bottle of ink and a piece of parchment, and spoke aloud as he wrote. "Polyjuice … potion … is … a … brew … which … changes … the … physical … appearance … of … the … drinker … and … allows … the … drinker … to … assume … somebody … else's … form."

And he wrote and wrote and wrote, including adding the ingredients to the potion and the time it takes to brew it. It was ten o'clock when he finished the five feet of parchment he was meant to write and was incredibly bored. He couldn't possibly write another good quality essay like this. Yawning, he made his way out of his room to maybe sneak up another cup of tea.

Surprisingly, Dudley was waiting for him in the kitchen, sitting and looking like he was trying to be defiant and brave, but rather ended up appearing as if a pig was going to start crying.

"I know you were doing homework," Dudley said, trembling.

"That's what normal kids who go to school do, Dudley," said Harry, but now he was worried. What if Dudley told his father? Harry was sure in for a thrashing.

"You're not normal," Dudley said, and suddenly he sounded more confident. "You are not normal."

"OK, I'm not normal," Harry said, shrugging, nonchalant on the outside but anxious on the inside. Would Uncle Vernon take away his homework, his wand, his broom, his owl? "If being normal is being like you, then I certainly don't want to be."

"Dad'll go ballistic if he finds out you've been doing your m-magic in here," Dudley said, smirking. "He'll kick you out."

"I haven't been doing magic," Harry said slowly. "I have been doing homework."

"Whatever! Dad doesn't like you doing anything related to that school of yours," Dudley said nastily.

"OK, whatever, I don't really care if you tell him," Harry lied, beginning to go back upstairs. Using reverse psychology often worked with Dudley, as he was nothing short obtuse and doltish and spent most of his time at school beating up ten year olds, eating food, playing games and eating food.

However, this time, it didn't work. "I know you're trying to trick me."

"Damn it, Dudley, you've surpassed me incredibly with your wit," Harry muttered.

Dudley narrowed his piggy eyes. "Watch your mouth."

"I should say the same thing every time you look at the candy shop walking home from school. But you can't resist stealing some, right?"

Dudley's face resembled a murderous tomato. "I'm not the only one sneaking food–"

"It's tea, plus I live here!"

"I wish you didn't."

"Oh, yeah? I wish I didn't either," Harry said hotly.

Dudley frowned. "Then leave."

Harry paused. He really wanted to, but then there was Dumbledore. Dumbledore, who had told Harry specifically that the Dursley household was the safest place Harry could stay, for the time being. Disgusted, Harry turned away. "I can't. Dudley, you wouldn't understand. It's about magic."

As Harry walked away, Dudley said, "I will tell Dad. Unless you do something for me. Please. You can only do it."

"I'm not interested, Dudley," Harry said, but, in in all trueness, Harry was very interested to know what Dudley thought Harry could give him that Dudley's overindulging parents could not.

That night, the knocking came back, still as chilling as ever. Desperate to get away from the noise, Harry hid in the bathroom, but the tapping continued there, and it was all the more haunting, the sleek raps against the window, the breathing at the back of his neck, the shampoos and soaps knocking down when Harry was startled.

Thankfully, when Harry got into bed, he quickly went to sleep, not having any nightmares that night. In the morning, there was no tapping, for which he was incredibly grateful.

He drowsily finished the History of Magic essay, careful to do it quietly and discreetly. However, he was very sleepy and clumsy that morning, so later, when Uncle Vernon was putting in the washing – along with Harry's bed sheets – he bellowed astonishingly loudly.

Alarmed, Harry, Aunt Petunia and Dudley rushed out to see what the commotion was.

Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry by the shirt and pulled him closer. "WHAT IS THIS?" Uncle Vernon yelled, holding up a sheet with an ink stain on it.

Harry struggled for a response, so all he could think of was, "It's a sheet. With a stain on it. I'm sure even you can see that."

"I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!" he roared.

"Then do you want me to whisper? Or shout?" Harry asked, feeling his temper rising as well. His uncle wasn't even angry about the fact that there was a stain on it and it would be hard to wash – he was angry that about the fact that there was an ink stain which insinuated Harry did something other than sleep all day.

Uncle Vernon ignored his acid words. "If I found out that you've been contacting your queer little friends, or you've been writing things for your freakish school–"

"Then you'll know that I do more than sleep and eat," Harry finished and walked away from a fuming uncle, a shell-shocked aunt and, on the way, a smug Dudley down the hallway who whispered, "Mum and Dad are out tomorrow. You know what you need to do."

Then louder, speaking to his parents, Dudley said, "Mum, Dad, while you're out tomorrow, I'll keep an eye on him. If he does anything weird, I'll tell you."

As the two boys walked away, Dudley gave Harry a wink, something that he'd never done Harry in about fourteen years of living together. Harry was very suspicious. Was this another one of Dudley's foolish pranks that had never worked ever since Harry became eleven? What did Dudley want from Harry?

That night, the knocking was back, more haunting than ever, and this time, Harry tried to keep his eyes wide open to get a glance at this forsaken thing. But every time Harry blinked, the sound got closer and Harry eventually gave up, lying, eyes open in bed, waiting for the sun to come up. He got no sleep, and when the tapping finally stopped, he was irate and wondered indignantly why Hermione was taking so long with her reply.

He got up and went down to eat breakfast. The Dursleys had, of course, left a notice on the fridge saying they would be back very soon and that Harry was not allowed to do eat anything, touch anything, watch anything or basically do anything entertaining. Ignoring what Harry supposed Uncle Vernon had intended to be a menacing note, Harry took out an apple and munched on it as he made his way to the dining room. Dudley was waiting for Harry there.

"Hi," Dudley said.

"OK," said Harry.

"Well..." said Dudley.

And then Harry said, "What do you even want from me?" at the same time Dudley said, "I want you to make me thin."

"What?" Harry said, and then snorted loudly. "You – what–?"

"I – I just said–"

"It's totally weird – I can't –"

"You will or I'll tell Dad you've been meddling with magic, you have–"

"You – you are blackmailing me right now – why should I help you?"

"I'll tell Dad – he'll throw you out–"

"Then you'll still be fat–"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT–"

"Why not? You are fat–"

Dudley looked murderous. "Oh yeah? I'm not as fat as that giant friend of yours that came storming through the door on that island house three years ago. The one that gave you that letter all those bloody birds wanted to give to you? Your giant friend – disgusting, he is, all pot-bellied and pudgy."

Harry suddenly felt defensive. Dudley was speaking about Rubeus Hagrid, the game keeper and Care for Magical Creatures at Hogwarts. He was the gentlest, kindest, funniest teacher Harry had and he felt his blood boil at the thought of Dudley insulting him. Hagrid had been his first real friend and the one who had introduced Harry to the magical, wondrous world of Hogwarts, and Harry did not take Dudley's snide remarks lightly. "Hagrid is not fat. He's – it was probably an Engorgement Charm or a Swell Spell – you wouldn't understand – whatever. He's not a giant, he's human. He's hundred times the person you are."

Dudley smirked. "If that bloated, enormous bloke is a person, I'm a pig."

"You certainly look like one – a pig that learned to walk on two legs–" Harry said, his temper rising.

"Hagger-rid looks like an elephant that learned to walk on two legs, he's just a freak like you, though maybe a little more freaky – God, he's awful, lumbering around and grunting like the oaf he is, he's –"

But at this point, Dudley screeched as Harry, instinctively, whipped out the wand from his pocket and prodded it threateningly at Dudley's throat. Dudley began whimpering, and then crying, and by the time Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia came home, Dudley had told his parents all about what Harry had done, conveniently leaving out the fact Dudley had provoked relentlessly and adding that Harry had tried to murder him.

"HOW DARE YOU RAISE YOUR FILTHY STICK AT MY SON?" Uncle Vernon bellowed at Harry, who had been forcibly seated down by a prim-face Aunt Petunia and a whimpering Dudley crying crocodile tears.

"I didn't even do anything to him–"

"YOU DARED THREATEN MY SON WITH YOUR DISGUSTING, UNUSUAL – THING!"

Harry was furious. "He goaded me–"

"Did you, Didders?" Aunt Petunia asked soothingly to her son. He shook his head, with a very convincing grimace on his face. She turned to Harry with an accusatory expression. "See! How dare you hold Dudley accountable for your disgusting actions? What were you even doing with your – twig – out and about, brandished and in the view of neighbours? Did you even care to think about our reputation?"

"I only had my wand out because Dudley wanted me to make him thin!" Harry said loudly and Uncle Vernon stopped growling and seething and Aunt Petunia's flushed face lost all colour.

"D–Dudley?" Aunt Petunia asked, horrified. "Is this true?"

Dudley remained expressionless.

"Oh, DUDLEY!" Aunt Petunia sobbed and began hugging Dudley tightly, muttering to him that the diet was working, and Dudley could take up a sport – perhaps wrestling – instead of ask his nastily little trickster cousin to do it and Dudley wasn't even that big, it was just baby fat. Uncle Vernon, recovering from his shock, grumbled along that Harry probably would've made Dudley loopy and done all sorts of claptrap, and phooey and poppycock like Harry's wasn't to be meddled with. Of course, the conversation had taken a sharp turn into the subject of Dudley, as it usually did.

"Well, if we're all done blowing our noses and talking about me as if I'm not here," Harry said acidly. "I'm going back upstairs."

"Oh, don't you leave just yet," Uncle Vernon said, turning on Harry and narrowing his beady little eyes. "I want you to go to your room–"

"–which is what I just had planned to do," Harry interjected–

"–and I want you to stay in there for three days, with no food or water, and think about what you've done."

This struck Harry as horribly unfair, but then again, Harry's life with Dursleys was a whole lot of unfair with a side of unreasonable. With one last fire-hot glare, Harry treaded up to his room and when he collapsed into his bed, he began planning his escape.

A/N: Please review, leave feedback, ask questions, anything :)