CHAPTER TWO

Harry sighed and started to pack away the gardening tools. A week had passed, and he'd heard nothing in response to his letter. There were no more visions, at least not that he was aware of. Most mornings he woke with aches and pains, as if he'd been exercising vigorously all night long. He wrote his letters every three days, trying to veil his desperate desires for news and updates in the form of cheerful queries; "how are you?", "any news?", and "hope you are all well."

If he thought that last summer had been hard with the feeling of being cut off, this one was ten times worse. Knowing that Voldemort no longer had to remain hidden and covert, anything could be happening. Sometimes he wondered if he wasn't imagining the gloom that seemed to be settling over life in Privet Drive. There was a heavy mist which, at first most noticeable in the mornings, now seemed to permeate everything, all day long.

Or maybe it was just him. With no one to talk to, and nothing he particularly wanted to say, Harry spent his days doing chores and lying on his bed, waiting for something, anything, that might provide him with news of his friends. If any of the Order were outside, there was no evidence of it.

He glanced around, wondering if there was a point in trying to contact any possible Order members keeping watch. He had spent the entire afternoon weeding and cutting the grass and at Aunt Petunia's instruction, painting the fence. There had not been a single sign of any other presence apart from his own. It was a hot day and the mist seemed to make the atmosphere heavier and harder to work in. Giving up on the idea, he dragged himself into the house and poured a glass of water, almost spilling it when his uncle's voice boomed behind him.

"You'll ask before you take anything in this house!"

"It's only water," Harry said, biting back the comment he wanted to make about nothing much being given to him, even when he did ask.

"Up to your room!" The man actually grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, marched him to his room and locked the door. Being locked in was usual enough, Harry supposed, and certainly food in the Dursley household wasn't exactly in ample supply at the best of times, but this sort of scenario usually took place when he'd done something they deemed to be out of the ordinary.

He flopped down on the bed and watched the mist outside. Without a breeze, it was almost tangible, wisps floating here and there...as if they could suddenly take shape...

...

Dear Remus,

Everything is fine here and I'm having a good summer. I would really like to hear how you are though. I've been here for more than a week now and haven't heard anything. Have you seen anyone since the summer began? I miss you all.

Please write,

Harry.

"You're not enticing anyone here, do you hear me?"

"I'm not, Uncle Vernon, I just want to know how they all are!"

"Leave out that line, boy, if you know what's good for you."

"He can't, Dad."

Dudley grabbed the letter out of his father's hand before he could tear it up.

"If he takes that part out, there'll only be one line in the letter. They'll get suspicious and come looking for him."

Harry stared, open mouthed, as Dudley shrugged and handed the letter back to Harry.

In his son's presence, Vernon seemed to make an effort to calm down. He took a deep breath and muttered something.

"Pardon?" Harry asked politely.

"I said fine! Send it!"

Vernon said not another word as he gathered up his briefcase and left the house.

"Thanks Dudley," Harry said, turning to his cousin, "uh...not that I'm not glad but...what's with all this being nice to me?"

Dudley turned bright red.

"I owed you one," he muttered, "for, you know, those dark things last year."

"Thought you blamed me for them."

"I don't...didn't. Well..." Dudley stared at him, his mouth working before the words came out, as if he couldn't quite form them.

"I'm sorry I laughed at you about your nightmares, Harry. I know...well, it's not something to laugh about."

"You have them?"

Dudley nodded, looking downwards.

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

"You weren't scared of those creatures. You fought them."

"I wasn't not scared, Dudley. But I'd seen them before."

"Still..." Dudley took a breath. "It made me think that...if you faced them like that, well, whatever you do have nightmares about...well, it...it must be really frightening."

For a moment, their eyes met. But before Harry had a chance to respond, Dudley gave him a slight nod and disappeared out the front door.

That evening, Uncle Vernon was strangely distracted when he arrived home. Dudley had been out all day and Harry finally finished his chores and started on dinner, bracing himself for the inevitable banishment to his room before the meal began. But it never happened. His uncle sat down with a heavy sigh, barely regarding any of them. After shooting him a few puzzled glances, Petunia served dinner and Harry tentatively joined them, eating as fast as he could in case his presence was suddenly noticed and objected to.

"Good day, dear?" Petunia ventured eventually.

Vernon nodded, never taking his eyes off his plate.

When they had finished, Harry took the plates to the sink and started to wash up. He was well into the task by the next time Vernon spoke.

"Potter."

Feeling his breath catch, Harry turned around slowly.

On the sitting room window sill, a brown owl sat, watching them calmly, a letter in its back.

"What have I told you about those bloody birds?"

"It's the only way..." Harry stopped himself. "I'll get rid of it." He hastened towards the window sill but his uncle beat him to it, snatched the letter and waved his hand angrily.

"Please Uncle Vernon..."

Vernon ripped the letter open, scanned it and handed it to Harry.

Dear Harry,

It's good to hear from you and I'm glad that you are ok. Please know that we will arrange to see you as soon as possible. Everything is fine but there is a lot going on. I will write again properly.

Remus

PS I passed on your message about the potions assignment to Severus as you requested. He says to remind you that he has been an expert in such matters since before you were born and he (strongly) suggests that you put the matter out of your head and get on with your other assignments. Still, in his own way, he obviously wants you not to worry, I suppose!

Harry frowned. It was hard to know how Snape might have interpreted what Harry had told him but either way, he had no intention of taking it, or Harry, seriously. No surprise there then.

"You're not doing any assignments in this house!"

"How can I?" Harry pointed out, trying to keep his voice calm, "you've locked all my school things away."

"I know what you're like, boy." Vernon's face was getting redder by the second.

"He's referring to an essay before the term finished, that's all."

"I'm telling you now, boy. If I find out that you're lying to me..." Vernon was in his space now and suddenly his hands were clamped on Harry's shoulders, shaking him firmly with every word.

"I know what you're like! You're not to be trusted! Half blooded little liar, that's all you are!"

The words shocked Harry into twisting himself firmly out of his uncle's reach. Half blood...where did his uncle learn that phrase? Petunia had risen to her feet and staring wide-eyed from one to the other.

"Vernon..."

But just as suddenly as it had begun, Vernon's anger seemed to dissipate.

"Go on. Go to your room," he said flatly.

"Gladly."

Harry spun around and ran upstairs. In the last glow of sun, the mist made the sky outside look a lot darker than it should. He threw himself down on the bed, trying to think clearly. He had known since last year that his aunt knew more about the wizarding world than she let on to but Vernon?

Everything felt wrong, he decided, staring out at the gathering gloom in the evening sky. He really hoped that whatever plans were being made for him would be made soon.

It was Christmas time in Grimmauld Place and the first person Harry saw when arrived through the front door was Sirius, his face younger-looking than Harry remembered him, his eyes alive with pleasure.

"Harry! It's wonderful to see you!" He threw his arms around Harry and drew him close, only pulling back when he realised that Harry was crying.

"What's wrong?"

"You're back. I'm just...so glad to see you. You're not dead."

But even as he said the words, Harry knew things weren't right. The room seemed was gathering darkness by the second. He stared at the mantelpiece.

"There's no Christmas cards. No one's sent us a present." Everything in the room was blank and suddenly even the feel of Sirius' arms was fading, losing substance.

"Sirius, come back! Please, come back!"

He opened his eyes, focusing at once on the orange glow of the street light outside his window. Had he shouted in his sleep? He waited, but there was no sound from the rest of the household.

Trying to shut the dream out of his mind, Harry closed his eyes again but it was a long time before sleep reclaimed him.

"Kill the spare!"

Voldemort, impossibly alive and grotesque in Wormtail's arms.

"Cedric!"

But it wasn't Cedric the wand was aimed at. Snape, his face pale and frozen, his body battered...

"Potter!"

"I'm sorry, sir, I tried to warn you!"

"Potter!"

Harry sat up and jumped sharply backwards when he saw his uncle staring grimly down at him. He definitely must have shouted...

But Vernon turned away as soon as he saw that he was awake.

"Get dressed. You're coming on an errand with me."

"What?"

"I need you to help with a few odd jobs...at work. Come on, we're leaving in fifteen minutes."

"Uncle Vernon..." Harry got out of bed and hurried after his uncle. "I'm not supposed to go anywhere. You know that. It's for your protection as much as mine."

"You'll come with me when I tell you, boy, and stop talking nonsense."

Harry got dressed quickly and ran downstairs. His aunt was in the kitchen, making coffee.

"Aunt Petunia. I'm sorry but...Uncle Vernon wants me to come with him to work and help with something. I can't leave the house, you know that."

She looked sharply at him.

"No one told us you can't leave the house." But her voice was uncertain. She stood up as Vernon came in to the kitchen, his coat on.

"Vernon, the boy can't be trusted around your colleagues. Leave him here."

"He'll do what he's told," Vernon growled, "outside, Potter, get in the car."

Harry stared at them.

"Now!"

"Vernon..."

"GET IN THE CAR!"

Harry turned around and walked out the front door. Something was badly wrong. Vernon had never, ever taken Harry anywhere of his own accord. Was he planning something...to have him beaten up or something? That was more Dudley's style. Should he run? He looked up and down the deserted street. If he ran, maybe the Knight bus would find him. But if Death Eaters got to him first...how many people would die this time trying to defend him?

He felt for his wand. The consequences of yet another charge of underage magic would be severe but it could be his best option.

"If anyone's there..." He spoke in a fierce whisper, then stopped. Talking to himself felt stupid but maybe, just maybe, there was someone around to hear.

"My uncle wants me to get in the car and go to his workplace. It's never happened before. I don't know what to do..." He broke off again and looked around as if help might have suddenly materialised in the last few seconds. Nothing.

"Please. I think I'll have to run and I don't know if it's the best thing to do."

Vernon marched out of the house, slamming the door behind him. Harry tensed, preparing himself for flight. He suddenly felt cold. It was as if that slam of the door had disturbed something. The air felt different. A chill seemed to creep over him.

"Potter! Get in before I...what the hell?"

Harry watched as Vernon suddenly walked all around the car, his face getting redder by the second.

The four tyres were flat.

Trying to hide a smile, Harry relaxed his grip on his wand.

"Never mind," Vernon straightened up, his eyes fixed on Harry. "We'll walk."

"I'm not going with you," Harry said, backing away, "you know I'm not and you know you can't make me."

A voice spoke from behind him.

"Maybe he can't, Potter, but you can be sure that I can."

Hoping against hope that his mind was playing tricks on him, he turned around slowly.

Bellatrix Lestrange was standing by the garden gate.