Chapter 6: Nothing's Permanent

Privet Drive appeared rather peaceful during the dead of night. All were asleep, except for one man, who stood standing before 4 Privet Drive dressed quite oddly. He sported a blue robe, had a very long white beard, and peculiar crescent-moon shaped lenses rested above his crooked nose. This odd man, few knew of in the Muggle world, but all knew of in the Wizarding world, for he was none other than Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore had his wand grasped in his hand, and he was swishing it in front of 4 Privet Drive. Multi-coloured sparks were flying out of its tip, and for some reason these stunning visuals caused a frown to arise on his face. Sighing in, he looked at 4 Privet Drive and its surroundings. After he was sure he wasn't being followed, and that nobody else was awake in the vicinity, he began to stride forwards towards the front door of 4 Privet Drive.

He knocked on it, with his wand now back safely in the pocket of his beautifully adorned robe. He began to wait patiently, his hands were clasped behind his back, and his eyes glued on the doormat. "WHO'S THERE?!" his ears caught the voice of Vernon who had shot out of his bed, and was stumbling down the stairs towards the front door in a quite furious form.

The door blasted open.

Dumbledore gazed upwards from the doormat, his eyes were twinkling and his lips were curled into a warm smile. Meanwhile, Vernon glared at him with red-shot eyes, and a face tinted utterly purple. "IT'S YOU!" Vernon spat. "What do you want from us?" he asked, bitterly.

"I will explain, once you let me in," Dumbledore continued to smile warmly, causing Vernon to wriggle in anger.

Vernon moved away from the door and let Dumbledore in without any words of welcome. He pointed at the sofas in his living room with his fat index finger, signalling Dumbledore to be seated there—it was an order, it seemed. Dumbledore sighed, trudged forwards and sat down placidly, while viewing the purple-faced Vernon smack himself down on a nearby sofa. "Now, tell me!" Vernon shouted, his voice indicating hate and anger.

Dumbledore continued to smile. However, his blue eyes weren't sparkling anymore, for they seemed fearful and afraid—not of Vernon's anger—but something else. "I had come to Privet Drive to see if the powerful magical protection casted over it by Lily Potter's—" Vernon was staring at Dumbledore with wide eyes that seemed to be bulging out his sockets, "—protection," Dumbledore continued, "remained here, as you see Harry is now an adult—"

"What?" Vernon spat.

"Please let me continue," Dumbledore smiled serenely. "What I'm saying is of great urgent importance. If you care for you life, you will surely listen."

Vernon responded by nodding firmly with his flabby face—his eyes were now no longer bulging out of his face with anger, but now out of fright.

After Dumbledore was sure that Vernon was listening to him attentively, he continued, "Lily Potter—Harry's mother— died saving him. When Harry was given to his aunt—your wife—a magical and very powerful protection was cast over this very home you're in. As long as Harry remained here and wasn't of age, the powerful protection would last. However—"

"However what?" Vernon hissed, he tried to put on a disguise of anger and fury over the fright he was feeling within, but he still appeared like a big panicked hog. He continued to stare at Dumbledore who was just as calm as he was erratic.

"Just two day ago, Harry was taken to his godfather's will-hearing," Dumbledore began. Vernon's eyes bellowed with glee, for he was quite genuinely happy that Harry's godfather had died, since anything that made the boy miserable caused him a great heap of merriment. However, the joy would soon waver from his eyes that were still bulging out his face. Dumbledore continued calmly, "In the will-hearing Harry became an adult in the eyes of the Ministry—our ministry—" Dumbledore corrected when Vernon began to look confused, "—when his godfather proclaimed him as Lord Black."

Vernon looked stumped. "What!" he choked. "What's Lord Black? What are you getting at?" he spluttered.

Dumbledore sighed once more. "It means Harry is the head of a very prominent household in the Wizarding world, and it also means that he is an adult. Just a few minutes ago, I've tried to see if the powerful protection charms casted over this abode were still there, and what I have found is that this house is no longer secure—and as you know Voldemort—" Vernon squirmed in his chair upon hearing Voldemort's name.

"Yeah, what about this Lord Voldything?" he quickly asked.

"Voldemort wishes to kill Harry, and though he does not know yet, he will soon find out that your home is no longer protected. It is very dangerous if you remain here—"

"We're not leaving if that's what you're getting at!" Vernon interjected. "Just who do you think you are—coming here in the dead of night, asking me to get out of my own home—telling me all this shenanigan?"

After around an hour or so, it was becoming quite clear to Dumbledore that Vernon was adamant on staying, and that no matter how much he tried to persuade him into leaving, he wouldn't. A sighing Dumbledore lifted himself off the sofa. "Very well," the headmaster whispered under his breath.

Meanwhile, Vernon was still sitting with his face-tinged purple. His lips were pursed into a repulsive sneer, as he stared at Dumbledore with gloating eyes. "I knew it!" he screamed. "You were lying to me!" he shrieked. "Now leave!"

Soon, Dumbledore stood at 4 Privet Drive's threshold once again, while Vernon stared at him with his chubby hand placed firmly on his front door's knob. "Very well then. Good-bye," Dumbledore said with a sigh. For a second, Dumbledore had wished to inform the Ministry, if aurors could perhaps come to the defence of 4 Privet Drive, but after careful thought he knew a handful of aurors would not be able to hold against Voldemort and his Death Eaters for long, and so right after bowing calmly to Vernon he Disapparated out of sight. A very furious Vernon zigzagged backwards at the 'pop' noise caused by Dumbledore's Dissaparation, and then he began to mutter and curse incoherently under his breath, as he finally closed the front door with a bang.

oOo

Bellatrix was lying asleep in the ornate sofa she had remained in since yesterday night. Her head was now rested on the armrest, while her feet dangled an inch above the floor—still wrapped in the dressings Harry had covered them with yesterday.

Then suddenly, her eyes parted open with a start; and alas, she knew today would be one of those days. Half-dazed, she composed herself into an upright position on the sofa, while she persisted to hear the cause to her alarmed state: There was a cacophony emerging from what seemed to be the kitchen. Grumbling, she glanced around, comprehending she was in the small study-room she and Harry had spent their night in.

Bellatrix eyed a nearby vacant spot, for she noticed Harry had slept there, as a worn pillow lay there aimlessly. Thus, she initiated to wonder over his whereabouts, though at the same moment, she could care less, all while she persisted to hear the ruckus that seemed to emitting from the Kitchen. She arched an eyebrow in bewilderment, and placed the soles of her feet on the ground, wincing faintly at her wounds that were still fresh, before she hobbled away towards the kitchen.

As she limped towards the kitchen while holding onto the worn walls of Grimmauld Place for support, she noted how the wallpapers on the walls had worn-down like everything else in the dwelling, and then recalled the beautiful dark crimson color the wallpapers had once been. In the main corridor, she noticed how the glass smithereens on the floor had been cleaned up, and she began to ponder if the house-elf – Kreacher - had been responsible.

When she neared the kitchen, as expected, the sound of what seemed to be dishes and cutlery rose in amplitude. Was it Kreacher? She neared the archway of the kitchen, and to her surprise, she spotted a certain young male—Harry Potter—chopping vegetables on one of the eroded limestone counters.

Harry was not aware of her presence as he continued to make breakfast: He was preparing salad, though his stomach grumbled for something more delicious and delectable, but he couldn't afford rich ingredients, for he hadn't the means to go to Gringotts to acquire some galleons out of his vaults; and therefore, he had to do with the Muggle change left in his pockets.

He grimaced, remembering the galleons in his vaults were enough to fill a living room, especially now, since Sirius had left him with quite a substantial amount of wealth…

Sirius…

He glanced at one of the two plates he had taken out of a dilapidated cupboard, and had washed pristine clean for Bellatrix… his godfather's killer. Anger rushed through his veins, and he began to slice down with harsher voice, causing huge dents to form on the chopping board when—

"Easy now," he heard a voice he was very well acquainted with, and hearing her swirled complete, utter fury through every inch of his form.

He sighed.

Ignoring Bellatrix, he continued to chop down, finally chopping every piece. He picked up the chopping board, tilted it above one of the two plates he had taken out of the cupboards, and then moved onto the other plate placed besides the one he had now filled, throwing the remaining contents left on the chopping board there. "Quite charitable," he heard her speak again, and his hands trembled in fury, as he smacked down the chopping board onto the counter with the knife he had held firmly in his hands – so firmly, his knuckles had turned chalk-white, and blood had still of not yet swarmed to flush them rosy.

"Why. Are. You. Here?" he hissed, turning around from the counter and glaring at her with his now very furious eyes.

Bellatrix watched him with an amused expression before her gaze towed away to the two plates of salad he had prepared for the two of them, now placed on the small dining table that could only seat three in the kitchen. Her lips formed into a malicious and mocking grin, and she began to respond: "Well," she began, as though orating a story, "I heard quite a ruckus issuing from here – and I trailed it down - finding you here – chopping vegetables," she sneered, "and besides," she smirked, her lips curling into an even wider arrogant grin, "it seems you have been awaiting my arrival," she finished, beckoning at the two plates behind him with her dark eyes.

Harry's face quivered in anger, which, naturally made Bellatrix feel quite elated: Oh, it was so terribly easy for her to anger the boy! Twitching a smirk, while lifting one of her hands away from her chest to brush a curl from her eyes, she asked in her icy voice, "Well, will we not eat?"

A petulant Harry turned around, and marched nearer to a table situated inches away from him, and splatted himself down before it.

Bellatrix clucked her tongue. "Where are you manners, Pottykins? Shan't you usher me into a seat like a gentleman?" she asked, as she limped towards the vacant seat by which her plate of salad was stationed.

Harry squirmed in his seat upon hearing her say 'Pottykins' and Bellatrix noted, curling her lips into a smirk again. She did not know why, but the boy seemed to dreadfully irritate her – perhaps it was because not many dared to challenge and confront her with sarcasm and anger that equaled to hers – for she had been Voldemort's closest lieutenant – and nearly all – both Death Eaters and members of the Order alike had been terrified of her – 'but him,' she began to ruminate while watching Harry, as he gurgled down water bitterly after choking on some lettuce that had been jammed in his throat, as he hadn't been chewing properly on his food, being far too in an angry composure – 'he doesn't seem afraid of me,' she finished her thought.

And that dreadfully frustrated her.

They did not speak or utter a word to one another for what seemed to be minutes – their ears only caught the sound of theirs forks that clicked and clunked on their plates, as they angrily and bitterly shoved their vegetables in them – venting their frustration. Their plates had been heavily scratched by the time they finished eating.

Both were still completely and terribly hungry, though they didn't openly admit it. Harry gazed up from his now empty plate to Bellatrix, who was fiddling with her fork – her stomach was grumbling in protest for more food – though at the same time her mind was not, as it had managed into evoking to Bellatrix bittersweet recollections of the times she had shared with Sirius…

Sirius had been the only one in the world who had ever truly cared for – her lips faintly quavered though Harry had not noticed –'and I killed him,' she ruminated, her heart had begun to feel heavy again—

Meanwhile, Harry continued to stare at the enigma sitting before him. He noted that she seemed to be in a cooler composure than the state she had been in yesterday, 'and the day before that,' he thought to himself, recalling the fiery fit she had thrown, while he had pinned her down to the ground in attempt to stop her from committing suicide. 'Perhaps—," he began to think, "she'll be calm enough to side-along Apparate me into the Burrow," he finished his hopeful musing. The thought had occurred to him early this morning, but he had shoved it into the furthest reaches of his mind, deeming it as unrealistic – there was a 'fat chance' she'd aid him. He also noticed that Bellatrix didn't seem interested in leaving Grimmauld Place, and buying a new wand. She hadn't mentioned or appeared to have a desire to get a new one at all, and seemed far too in an apathetic state – for a split second, he wondered why. Thus, he quickly comprehended that he couldn't really persuade her into side-along Apparating him into Diagon Alley either.

Nonetheless, while feeling like a complete idiot – he eagerly voiced his hopeful, but absurd initial contemplation aloud, though knowing fully well how unrealistic it would be if she obliged to it, and side-along Apparated him near the Burrow (for the Burrow had anti-apparition spells, he had quickly remembered) —

He soon realized he shouldn't have done it.

"I am not your transportation - to use like a mule - Potter!" Bellatrix hissed, her cool composure had deflated in an instant. Anger was rushing through her veins: What had this boy deemed her to be? A magical carriage he could wish upon whenever he wished to go somewhere? She lifted herself off the chair, and began to limp furiously out of the kitchen. Though she would never acknowledge it, she hadn't been angered so much by what Harry had said. Rather, she had been angered, for he had interrupted her while she had been engrossed in a very vivid memory she had shared with Sirius. and this memory had erupted from her mind the moment she had heard 'his blasted voice!' she grumbled in her head.

Harry growled, as he rose himself from the chair he had been sitting on, and picked up the two plates to wash them. No sooner had he picked the plates up, he had dropped them purposefully onto one of the counters, leaving them there deserted, for he saw no reason to clean them. Suddenly, he heard the front-door creak open - "Kreacher!" Harry screamed, "Is that you?" he asked, but was not met with any response from the deranged house-elf.

"Harry? Is that you?" Harry heard a familiar female voice blast into Grimmauld Place. A sudden flurry of warmth tingled from his head to his toes, and a grin flashed over his face.

"Tonks!" he screamed in merriment, quickly marching towards the main corridor, where he saw a woman turn around to him with a warm and friendly smile painted on her face. Harry, however, quickly noticed that her hair was still a mousey-brown, and that her face had paled tremendously from the last time he had seen her. "Are you okay?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

She didn't respond to what he had asked. "Dumbledore's sent me to pick you up — he told us not to worry about your whereabouts - said you were fine - but I was still dreadfully worried about you. Is Bellatrix here —"

"I am here," Harry heard a hiss issue from behind Tonks. He growled, as he spotted a head full of black curls in the main corridor. It seemed Bellatrix had still not been able to reach her desired destination at Grimmauld Place, for she was holding the wall with one hand, leaning on it - as though she had been limping a moment ago.

The Metamorphmagus had turned around immediately upon hearing Bellatrix's voice. "Bell—" she gasped, "Wha—" she stopped mid-way, not being able to finish what she had initiated to say, as her eyes darted down to Bellatrix's robe that had been stained red and ripped at its ends, and then the bandages that Harry had wrapped around her feet.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. Tonks swiftly neared her, seized her arm and placed it around her neck. "I was extremely worried about you," she said warmly, but Bellatrix hadn't appeared to hear - or if she had - she hadn't cared if Tonks had been worried sick or not. The Metamorphmagus continued, not giving up on starting a conversation with her aunt—"Where's your wand? Why didn't you heal yourself with it?" she asked.

That seemed to have caught Bellatrix's attention. "Why don't you ask him?"

"What's going on?" Tonks howled, as she walked down the main corridor, and finally arrived at the living room of Grimmauld Place - still holding onto Bellatrix while Harry followed her behind.

"She broke my wand," Harry spat.

"Wait - what? Why?" she inquired, her voice harboring bewilderment and confusion, as she set a snappish Bellatrix down onto a sofa.

Shortly, she noticed that her aunt and Harry had begun what seemed to be a staring contest of who could force the most loath into their eyes. Tonks sighed, and kneeled down - casting a charm over Bellatrix's feet, healing them in less than a minute. "Now — how'd it happen?" Tonks asked the impending question, as she rose from the ground.

"Aunt Walburga's Portrait," Harry responded with a snicker, breaking eye-contact with Bellatrix.

"What?" Tonks inquired, quite intrigued. "I thought there had been a Permanent Sticking Charm cast over it."

Bellatrix's gaze was settled on her freshly healed feet. "Nothing's permanent…" she said impassively, in a voice barely above a whisper, her words indicating to more than just the portrait that she had somehow managed to remove from the wall and break.

Harry suddenly remembered the tear that had driveled from her eye when they had been sitting by the fireplace. He had heard her whisper something he could still not fathom— "I didn't think," he had heard her say softly, when he had asked her what she had been thinking of when she had murdered Sirius. What she had said had entranced him in his sleep. He had not been able to think of anything else through all night - those three words had become parasitic - had consumed all his other thoughts, until the only thoughts that had remained had revolved around them. And now, just when he had forgotten about those three words, she had said this—

What had she meant by 'Nothing's permanent'? Harry began to reflect—

Tonks suddenly spun him out of his thoughts. "It's not safe to be without a wand for long these days. We should get a wand for both of you two right now. Come, let's go!" she smiled, trying her best to lighten the mood, though she quickly noticed that her efforts had been in vain - Harry seemed to be lost in his thoughts, quite hushed and quiet, while Bellatrix was in a similar temperament.

Author's Note: So here's the next chapter. When I copy-pasted this to Doc Manager, for some reason some of the words no longer had spaces. I tried my best to fix it, so sorry if there's still words that don't have spaces between them. Anyway, hope to hear your thoughts. I'm starting on the next chapter -hopefully- soon. :)

EDIT: I had added the chapter that had been the rough draft by accident, and later on I realized I had done so, so I replaced it with this one. I've looked over this chapter once or twice, and have fixed any mistakes/errors that I've noticed. And thank you 'Guest' for pointing out the word 'dreadfully' has been repeated a few times in several paragraphs, I've changed that—you're right it read funny.