Chapter Three

– LEAVING FOR HOME –

Harry was in a dark, spacious room … fancy but cluttered … a room that had the feeling of once furnished with splendour and grandeur, but now only filled with dirt and grunge … it was his father's old home … of course, it was no more his father's … ever since Harry had murdered his worthless Muggle father …

Wormtail was at Harry's feet, grovelling as usual … "My Lord, I–I found the second target and I disposed of him like the last one … as you wished…"

Harry laughed, amused … "He put up a fight, did he?" … he indicated at Wormtail's cuts and scars … "Anything for my Lord," Wormtail insisted … he laughed once more …

Harry was even now weak, feeble … his voice still hoarse and his limbs still numb … "Have you made all the necessary movements so our candidates will be installed in their positions? … I have great reason to believe Dumbledore will move our required item elsewhere, perhaps the home of someone he trusts, or somewhere else in the London …"

"My Lord … the Night-Knocker has – as you know, it is one of the only magical beings that can perform magic without wand – made your nemesis's wand the Portkey … our third target will soon touch it and be transported into our willing hands, ready for the exchange …"

"Also, my Lord," Wormtail began, looking fearful … oh, how disgusted Harry's servant made him … the worm, the self-preserving rat … "Will you not only use it … for the original intention, but for other purposes? I–I think – the Ref–"

"Do not speak of it!" Harry said sharply … the fool … how freely his tongue spoke … "Anyone could be listening in!" … how much idiocy Harry put up with a daily basis … he felt an urge to just murder Wormtail already …

"I am sorry, I apologise, my Lord!" Wormtail said obsequiously … he'd better be sorry … "I did not think …"

"Obviously … continue with your query …"

"I – I just thought, the … desired result … is incredibly powerful … would you not manipulate it for other uses?" Wormtail asked …

"No, no, my foolish servant … you do not think wisely … it is a powerful, incredibly powerful magical object … it can be manipulated, but not too much … to use it beyond necessity is to bend and possibly destroy all of the past and the future … no, Wormtail, I shall only use it for replenishing my body … no more than that … however, safekeeping it is a wise decision … yes, after we seize it, we shall guard it … who knows what Dumbledore might do if we do not keep possession of it …"

"Yes … of course, my Lord …" Wormtail said, backing down, unwilling to argue … "Yes, that is most wise, master …"

And Harry began laughing, a laugh so high and harsh, clear and cold, that two hundred miles away, the body and mind of Harry Potter reunited once again and he woke up panting, clutching his hand to his white-hot scar.

He lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling. After the initial shock wore off, he was aware that the tapping was there, the incessant, chilling tapping that, mingled with the indignation at the Dursleys for being the most unfair people he'd ever met, the impatience at Hermione for her very belated reply to his letter and the horrible, fearful dreams where Harry was becoming more and more paranoid he was becoming Voldemort, was hurting Harry all the more agitated and tetchy and panic-stricken. The whole absurdity of it all was aching Harry's head, and even more so his aching, smarting scar, bringing agony and excruciation that was gradually ebbing away into numbness.

The dreams – visions? – were tormenting Harry immensely. Even in the sickening presence of Wormtail, the treacherous man who had betrayed Harry's parents to Voldemort, there was the added horror of seeing the plans unfolding through the eyes of Voldemort, seeing the terror developing through the Voldemort's perspective, the Dark Lord's point of view. This chilled Harry to the bone, as the dreams had been going on for months now. Was Harry getting these dreams because the scar Voldemort had given him as an infant still connected them? Were Harry and Voldemort alike somehow?

The dreams had talked of an object, an item that Voldemort had needed. Was it something that could replenish Voldemort, something that could bring Voldemort back to his original, physical form? Was it a weapon, something that did things even worse than something a spell, a curse could do? Whatever it was, Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and someone Harry greatly admired, seemed to not only know of it, but also know that Voldemort required it. It sounded horribly powerful and seemed to be something ancient and significant.

Harry remembered something exciting. Voldemort had said "…Dumbledore will move our required item elsewhere, perhaps the home of someone he trusts, or somewhere else in London…" What piqued Harry's interest was the fact that Voldemort had chosen the words 'somewhere else' which implied that whatever Voldemort needed was in London.

Then, Harry frowned. If Voldemort knew where his desired item was, why hadn't he stolen yet? Was he biding his time? Was the place where it was hidden too heavily guarded for a weakened, ailing Dark Lord and his cowardly, snivelling servant to penetrate? Questions and puzzles flew through his head like the Cornish Pixies in a memorable practical Defence lesson with their less-than-competent professor Lockhart.

As Harry pondered this, the creepily rhythmic knocking incessantly continued, and Harry felt himself shiver. Even though it had happened twice before, the knocking made Harry cold to the very core. However, he was educated enough in the previous nights not to run away from the noise nor try and stop it.

The sun rose and the sounds ceased, replaced by a familiar, reassuring hoot from something in the distance. Harry grinned and hefted up the window as he saw Hedwig gliding towards him, carrying an envelope by her feet – but she was also carrying a Daily Prophet newspaper. It was strange; Hedwig never brought him the Daily Prophet. The owls that worked for the Daily Prophet distribution office were the ones that brought them to Harry for one Knut (though yesterday, Harry, being in a tetchy mood from being kept up all night from the eerie, unnerving tapping noise had violently closed the window in the delivery owl's face).

Hedwig landed gracefully in her cage and stuck out her legs one by one so Harry could take his deliveries. Harry tore open envelope first, which was from Hermione, and pulled out and began reading the letter, which was written in Hermione's neat script.

Dear Harry,

You're very welcome – it was such a hassle to buy the book, if I'm being honest. The shopkeeper kept on telling me they weren't in stock, except for one which was for display, so I used the Gemino Charm on it, and he didn't seem very happy about it.

Harry, that sounds like a very serious problem. It can't have been a Dementor, a Boggart or a Lethifold, can it? I mean, because Dementors are tangible and wouldn't have the need to knock and your Boggart's a Dementor, right? Also, Lethifolds are normally cloak-like and carnivorous and though there haven't been many witnesses to Lethifolds, I don't suppose they have any hands to knock with, because

The whole last paragraph had been scribbled out, like Hermione realised that she was rambling nonsense.

Harry, basically, I'd never heard of any creature like that before, so I estimated a bit and quickly began to research and turns out, there are actually quite a few creatures that only match your description, but only by half. I guessed Acromantulas would fit the several-legged creature that you recounted, but they usually just directly kill you, so I scratched that out. Next, I guessed it could be Inferi – dead humans brought back to a half-life, you see – but then again, they travel in packs, and you only detailed one entity, plus Inferi only have as many legs as a human. I really was at a loss, and I'm sorry, Harry, and I know you'll be angry, but I did contact all the trustworthy, intelligent adults I knew, including the ones you wrote down.

"Hermione!" Harry whispered furiously.

Everybody I wrote to didn't have a clue, but they all told you to keep safe. Lupin, really, was the only one with an answer–

He did say that he'd heard of a legend about a dark creature, controlled by a master, usually a wizard or a witch, who the creature saw as the most powerful and did its bidding. The creature, nicknamed a Night Knocker or a Knockturnal, went to its master's enemies or rivals and agitated, frightened and disturbed them. Unfortunately, Lupin doesn't know a cure, or something that can counter it with, other than ignore it. He says to never look at it, for those who have don't survive to see the next morning. He tells you also to not worry too much, as the Night Knocker won't injure you too seriously or kill you in your sleep, but he does caution you that some wizards, terrorised and turned mad by the curse of the Night Knocker, go looking for it and never return. He says You-Know-Who might be the controller of this particular Night Knocker. He tells you not to go out looking for the thing, please.

Another thing – have you heard Hogwarts will be inspected next year, and our DADA teacher this year is a famous, a little crazed, Ex-Auror named Alastor Moody? Harry, please read the newspaper article I circled and sent to you – it'll be very enlightening.

BE SAFE, HARRY.

Yours truly, Hermione.

Though Harry was still incensed about Hermione telling the adults and making them worry, he was grudgingly grateful, because Hermione had managed to find some answers. The best he could do was ignore the knocking when it came at night.

Then he quickly grabbed the Daily Prophet, dated yesterday. On the front cover, was a big headline and around the story was a big red circle drawn in a marker, most probably by Hermione. The article read:

MOURNING 'MAD-EYE' MOODY'S MURDER

Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody possibly once the most successful and most famous Auror of all time has been found dead in his secluded, heavily guarded home in Scotland. He was found mutilated, gashed and lacerated beyond belief in his Scottish home. Perhaps we would never have found him, as Moody was a very paranoid and mistrustful person and would hardly let anybody enter his home, but the mailman Zachary Zilch (perhaps the only wizarding mailman, as Moody has an irrational fear of owls) knocked on Moody's door for hours, then became alarmed and wizarding law enforcers were authorised to destroy all protective enchantments. Moody was found dead, and his body was taken by officials to study.

Moody's death was speculated to be the work of terrorist groups or families of the countless Death Eaters that Moody has imprisoned. A full-scale enquiry will be made about this devastating murder. Nevertheless, we are sad to say that Moody will not be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year and Hogwarts is yet again one teacher short (cont. page 12, column 3)

Harry furrowed his brow as he read. Underneath the article was Hermione's handwriting, a message saying, Who'll teach us this year?

Harry's mind was spinning … the killing of a renowned Auror … the death of a Ministry worker, employed in an enigmatic office … the plans and schemes of Voldemort and Wormtail and what they wanted most dearly … the inspection at Hogwarts … somehow, something in Harry's mind told him they were all linked somehow, all intertwined and interconnected. The thought was making his head burst.

He shook his head, giving up thinking and went back to sleep, too tired from lack of sleep these last few days to do any of his homework.

He woke up as he heard a loud knocking on the door, and then the door slowly opening. In the doorway stood Uncle Vernon, looking gruff.

"We have decided what to do with you," Uncle Vernon said, and behind him, Aunt Petunia and Dudley murmured assent and nodded firmly. "We have decided that you will not have dinner anymore–"

"Won't make a difference really, considering the amount of dinner you give me usually," Harry said loudly, but the Dursleys ignored him.

"You will never leave your room–"

"Gladly!"

"And you will from now on go to St Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys and no longer attend that – that freakish school of yours!"

"NO!"

"YES, boy, it's called justice!"

"I'll find a way to go to Hogwarts anyway–!" Harry snarled quickly, desperately, defiantly.

All three Dursleys had flinched so violently when he had said Hogwarts's name that Dudley toppled over and tripped Aunt Petunia.

Uncle Vernon was breathing so hard that Harry thought he looked like a murderous tomato that had run a gruelling race. "HOW DARE YOU UTTER YOUR ABNORMALITY TO US, BOY–"

Aunt Petunia shot her husband an imploring look. "The neighbours, Vernon–!"

"It's just a word, 'Hogwarts' isn't even a swear word–!"

"It's not even a word–!"

"WHATEVER, I'm still going!"

"No, you AREN'T, boy, not if I have anything to say about it!"

"What can you say when you're too busy stuffing your mouth with candy behind your wife's back–?"

Aunt Petunia screamed, affronted.

Uncle Vernon flushed an ugly red. "We have raised you not to be rude, we have treated you like a second son–"

"Oh yeah, so you abuse your son?" Harry said loudly. "You give me your real son's hand-me-downs? You allow your son to be bullied?"

"There are limits–" Uncle Vernon said murderously.

"Yeah? This is my limit," Harry said. For some reason, this trivial matter had sparked something inside Harry. No – it had inflamed something, fuelled the flames more. The fire had been sparked ages ago. Harry, with thirteen years of pent up rage, withheld flames of fury, felt his hand trembling for his wand. He felt anger and hostility and he now knew he was done with the Dursleys, finished with the people who had abused Harry his entire life. "I'm leaving."

Uncle Vernon stumbled for words. "YOU – I– fine! LEAVE."

Uncle Vernon glared, and Harry, feeling anger and rage burst through him, felt a gale of wind rush through him and slam the door in all three of the Dursleys's faces, to the scandalised gasps from Aunt Petunia and the seething of Uncle Vernon. He was too triumphant to care about the impending fact that he'd just used underage magic. He began to pack all his things, chucking his books, parchment and letters violently into his trunk, picking up Hedwig's cage.

Only five minutes later, he stood at the edge of the doorstep of number four, Privet Drive, shouldering his broom and staring blankly at the three people who had abused him his whole life. They felt no regard, no respect or care, feeling perhaps contempt, towards the boy with the lightning scar, who they believed had tarnished and tarried their family from the moment he landed onto their doorstep, and he very mutually returned the feelings, wishing to have lived anywhere else.

He waved curtly, stiffly, and left number four Privet Drive, never looking back to the place he would no longer call home, the place where he spent the worst of fourteen years. There was a sense of of finality, leaving, but it wasn't a sad feeling. It wasn't leaving home. It was leaving for home, leaving Privet Drive forever for Hogwarts.

He felt a vague sense of accomplishment, but the hostility, rage and triumph the last ten minutes had brought were swamped by a new, sickening realisation: where was he going to stay now? Where was Sirius who had flown away just a few months ago on the back of the recently condemned Hippogriff Buckbeak? Where was Lupin, who was the kindest and most understanding teacher Harry had ever had? He guessed he could go to the Burrow – where Ron Weasley, his best friend, lived – but how would he get there? Last year he had boarded the Knight Bus, the magical, eccentric wizarding transport that Harry wasn't too keen on trying again. Trudging past Privet Drive and onto Magnolia Crescent, he reckoned that the Knight Bus was his best option, and was just about to stick out his arm and hope the conductor Stan Shunpike would come to his aid when he felt something shake and glow in his pocket.

Violently, suddenly, his wand flew from his pocket, landing in the grass ahead of him and emanating a light blue shine. Cautiously, Harry approached his pulsating, radiating wand and reached down to pick it up–

–only to feel as if a hook had caught itself somewhere behind Harry's navel and jerked him swiftly from the earth, sending him spiralling into the sky in a whirlwind of colours and sounds.

A/N: Short chapter :) Please review and leave feedback!