Chapter Two: Back Into Hell

Harry Potter didn't say a word while traveling in his Uncle's car back to Privet Drive after leaving his friends at King's Cross Station. His uncle, for the first time picking up his nephew at the station unaccompanied by his wife and son Dudley, looked his normal irritated self. Harry smiled at the idea that he probably came alone because Aunt Petunia and her precious Dudders were too frightened at the chance of having another conversation with a group of wizards, one of them a mangled old man with a spinning electric blue eye and bowler hat.

'What are you smiling at boy?' his uncle roared, his beady eyes on Harry.

'Nothing Uncle,' he replied.

Uncle Vernon glared at him before making a large grunt that sounded like a walrus and continued to drive on.

Upon arriving home, Harry stowed his trunk along with his owl's, Hedwig, cage upstairs then deciding to write a letter to his friend, Ron Weasley, the youngest son of the family Harry had grown to love more than any other family he had ever met. While driving home, he had decided that he would only stay at the Dursley's for two weeks, enough time to make an inventory on what he'd be bringing with him on his journey, where to meet his friends and who he'd be able to keep in contact with the Order of the Phoenix, specifically Remus Lupin and at the same time not being caught. Ron had told him on the train that his older brother, Bill, was going to have his wedding at the Burrow in two weeks time. His two best friends had told him that they were going to stay with him at number four until the day of the wedding and afterwards they would make their way to Godric's Hollow, but Harry had to convince them otherwise. It was bad enough for him to be there, and he didn't want his friends to share the discomfort of living under the same roof as the Dursley's, if only for two weeks. Ron and Hermione had argued with him over this announcement, but Harry promised he would write to them everyday until they saw each other again. Furthermore, he had both Hermione and Ron promise that they would not try to see him until he was ready to leave the Dursley's. Appreciatively, they both agreed, both were extremely put out by Harry's decision. Keeping his promise, he pulled out a quill and a piece of parchment.

Dear Ron,

Just got in. Uncle Vernon hasn't even yelled at me yet. It's gotta be a record. Anyways, I'm staying at the Dursley's for two weeks. I'll meet you and Hermione at Bill's wedding. I forgot to ask you, are Bill and Fleur expecting me to get them a wedding gift. If so, what would they like, I doubt wizarding families are registered somewhere. Let me know.

Harry.

He sealed the letter, and tied it carefully around Hedwig's leg.

'Could you take this to Ron?' he asked the snowy owl.

Hedwig hooted in reply. Harry opened the window and Hedwig flew out of it. He stared at the bird until it vanished behind the tree tops. Harry looked around his room for a bit, pulled out a book from his trunk about the Quidditch teams of Ireland, laid down on his bed, and began to read. A little while later, he pulled off his glasses, and fell asleep above the covers. Although it wasn't nearly ten, he knew for certain his Uncle would have him working hard in the garden tomorrow, probably at the crack of dawn.

The next morning Harry was awoken at six a.m. by the sound of hard knocks at his bedroom door. He groaned in his sleep. He was having a very nice dream of snogging the lead singer of The Weird Sisters. He stood up in bed, scratching the back of his head, rubbing his eyes and putting his glasses on.

'Are you up yet Potter?' his Uncle yelled through the door.

'Yes Uncle,' Harry replied, 'Up and fucking able.'

The door burst open, his uncle in the threshold wearing a large putrid yellow bath robe that made him look like an overstuffed canary with a breathing problem since his face was beginning to get that all too common shade of violet.

'You will not use that language in my house!' he roared.

Harry stood up slowly, his eyes narrowed at his fat Uncle.

'Yes, sir,' he said putting sarcasm on the last word.

His uncle stared at him for a moment.

'Your aunt's garden needs to be weeded out. I also want you to clean the bird pool, and thoroughly Potter. Also,' he went on, 'We will be having guests at the house in a couple of days, so I want you to polish everything downstairs, and clean out your old room.'

Harry couldn't help but get a little irritated that his uncle called the broom closet underneath the stairs his old room. He wanted to retort, and he even thought about hexing his uncle into oblivion, but he didn't want to chance it. With Dumbledore gone, the Ministry would have a field day with him using magic on a muggle, and the last thing Harry wanted right now was to be anywhere near the Minister of Magic or any one of his minions.

'Yes sir,' Harry said, pulling on his shoes.

Uncle Vernon looked taken aback by his nephew's surprisingly new sense of cooperation, but he didn't think much of it. He turned around when Harry spoke to him.

'Who is coming to visit?'

Uncle Vernon turned around, and Harry noticed the tinge of purple coloring his uncle's face, he already knew who was visiting before Vernon Dursley even said it.

'Aunt Marge,' he said gruffly.

At this, Uncle Vernon took two menacing steps closer to Harry, his mustache getting more disheveled as his breathing became more and more heavy.

'And I'm warning you Potter,' he said lifting up one beefy finger in his nephew's face. 'If anything that even remotely resembles what happened to her the last time she was here and I'll lock you in that broom cupboard until the very end of the summer.'

With that, Uncle Vernon left Harry with the overwhelming knowledge that the next two weeks were going to be hell. Harry wanted so much at that moment to take out his wand, curse his Uncle and leave without a second's thought. He could live at the Leaky Cauldron until Bill's wedding, and would never have to see the Dursley's including the horrific sight of his Aunt Marge ever again. The only thing that held him back was Dumbledore's wishes that he return to this house.

It's just two weeks, he thought to himself. Two weeks and I'm out of here.

He pulled on a new shirt and his best pair of Muggle jeans that were a bit short in the legs and wide in the waist, considering his enormous cousin had worn them, and strapped on his belt.

Well, at least I can say it couldn't get worse than this.

And with that, it started to rain.

Harry groaned inwardly to himself. He'd only been back a day, and he was forced to do back breaking yard work, have to put up with his Uncle's abuse and threats. And to put the icing on the cake, the worst women in the world, Aunt Marge, was coming to visit, probably bringing that obnoxious dog of hers too.

While Harry worked vigorously in the garden, pulling out weeds and mowing the lawn in the hard pounding rain, he secretly wished that Death Eaters would show up on Privet Drive, so he could have a legitimate excuse of running like hell from this God-forsaken place, never to return again.

It was like that for the next few days until the night before Aunt Marge would arrive. Harry had spent most of the day cleaning the gutters and railings on the side of the house. While cleaning the outside windows, his cousin Dudley, who, by defining physics, had grown bigger since Harry had last seen him would throw mud against the window that Harry had just spent the last twenty minutes thoroughly cleaning. Just when he was about done with Dudley and his group of friend's making life more difficult for him then it already was, Arabella Figg, the Squib walked across the street, right in the direction of Dudley and his gang.

'What the hell does this old bat want?' Dudley's friend Piers asked rudely, staring at Ms. Figg with her fluffy pink slippers, worn out grayish green bathrobe and matching colored hair curlers walked towards them.

She stopped right in front of Dudley, and pointed one long bony finger at him.

'I would stop bothering your cousin if I were you Dudley,' she said.

'Oh really,' Dudley said puffing his chest out and towering over the old lady who smelled like cats.

'Oh yes, really,' Ms. Figg answered sweetly.

'And why is that you old crane?' Dudley asked while his friends laughed behind him.

'Because,' Ms. Figg said, ignoring the boys laughing at her completely, 'I know a man with a blue eye and half a nose that would be very unhappy with you if I were to tell him how you're treating your cousin here.'

The smile and arrogant look on Dudley's face vanished, replaced with wide eyes with a mixture of pure terror and fear. He looked over his shoulder at his gang who were still laughing at Ms. Figg and throwing mud on the windows Harry was still trying to

clean.

'Stop,' he said in a very weak voice.

His friend's turned around; Piers still holding mud in his hand.

'What?' they asked.

'I said stop,' Dudley said, his voice getting stronger, but still showing the signs of fear from what Ms. Figg had just said.

'Leave my cousin alone,' he said flatly. 'I don't want anyone to bother him ever again.'

His friends looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

'Why not?' they asked.

'Because,' Dudley stammered, looking everywhere except at Ms. Figg and his friends. 'Because if anyone is gonna give him a hard time, it's gonna be me.'

His friends looked at him incredulously until dropping the chunks of mud and wiping their hands on the sides of their jeans.

Ms. Figg smiled at Dudley for a minute until taking a few steps closer and whispering something into his ear. Harry strained to hear but couldn't make out what she said, but noticing Dudley's knees began to wobble and his face had gotten paler. After she finished talking to Dudley, she waved merrily at Harry before walking back towards her cat invested house. Dudley, for some reason looked even shakier. His friends gave him a complex look when he said he wasn't feeling good all of a sudden and told his friends that he'd see them tomorrow. Walking up the lawn to the front door, Harry called from atop the ladder.

'What did she say to you?'

Dudley turned to look at his cousin, the usual glare of intense dislike gone, now replaced with fear and nervousness.

'She said,' he stuttered, looking more nervous, 'That the man with the blue eye and missing nose is watching me right now, and that I shouldn't bother you anymore.'

With that, he took a quick look around before running headlong into the house.

Harry chuckled to himself. He reminded himself to thank Ms. Figg the next time he saw her. As he continued to clean the windows, he couldn't get over the weird feeling that he was being watched.

It was getting on nine in the evening while Harry lay in his bed, idly staring at the ceiling when a tapping noise came from the window. Getting up resolutely, he opened the window for Hedwig to come in. Harry took the letter from her as she nipped his finger affectionately, took a few drinks from her water dish and hopped into her cage, immediately going to sleep.

Harry smiled as he unfolded the letter and noticed the shabby handwriting of his best mate.

Dear Harry,

Sorry this letter took so long to write, it's crazy over here at the Burrow. The whole family is here, well, except for Charlie who's still in Romania and Percy, but he doesn't count anyways does he? I talked with Bill and he said that you don't have to get them anything but if you'd like to it would be nice. He told me to just use your best judgement on a present, but I have no idea myself. Hermione has been writing me everyday while she visits New York City. She says it's really big and really loud and she can't find a quiet place to read a book. Based on that, I'm thinking of moving there. I hope the muggles are treating you as good to be expected. See you in a week or so.

Ron.

Harry smiled as he re-read the letter a second time. He folded it up, and put it in one of the drawers of his desk. He felt very tired all of a sudden, working outside did a number on him. He was about to set down his glasses when he heard his Uncle's booming voice.

'Harry Potter!' he yelled.

Oh great. The hell did I do this time?

Reluctantly, he stood up and walked downstairs. Both his Aunt and his Uncle

were staring at him through the living room.

'Yes Uncle Vernon,' Harry asked walking into the living room.

'Aunt Marge is coming tomorrow afternoon,' Vernon growled, tying to gain composure. 'And I'm warning you one last time, no funny business.'

Harry had had enough of this, but didn't fancy his Uncle yelling at him for thirty minutes when he could merely put his head in the sand and go to sleep in five.

'Yes Uncle,' Harry replied nonchalantly.

'Good,' his Uncle said, 'now get to bed; I have more chores for you tomorrow morning that need to be done before she gets here.'

'Yes sir,' Harry said and marched back up the stairs.

He was getting very tired of this. Nonetheless, he kicked off his shoes, pulled the covers up, and immediately went to sleep. Tomorrow would be terrible, he thought to himself, but at least tonight he would dream peacefully.

The next day it rained like hell, and even though Harry was forced to clean up the entire downstairs, he was happy for the fact that he was working inside, the storm outside was getting worse.

Aunt Marge showed up right on schedule, around three in the afternoon, unaccompanied by her bulldog Ripper. She said with tears rolling down her fat cheeks that he had started to feel ill, and she didn't think it was wise for him to take such a journey to Privet Drive. Harry tried not to smile at this news, but was having great difficulty. Aunt Marge of course, was her usual charming self, constantly tormenting Harry by his looks and his lack of gratitude for living in this house. Still, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia quickly changed the subject if Aunt Marge would say something along the lines of Harry's parents, for they saw the look on their nephew's face and knew, although unwillingly, they had to keep the peace.

Harry spent most of the time in the living room as Aunt Marge drank more and more brandy inside the kitchen with this Aunt and Uncle. Dudley was playing on the computer across the room and very pointedly ignoring Harry altogether. Harry was thinking about what he should get Bill and Fluer for their wedding when the doorbell rang. Dudley jumped to get it, but Uncle Vernon bellowed from the dining room for Harry to answer it.

Grumbling a bit, Harry stood up from the sofa, and walked over and opened the front door.

A young man in his early twenties was standing on the welcome mat. He had piercing blue eyes and sawdust brown hair that was drenched and slicked back from the rain outside. He had a lined face and was on the pale side, but he was tall and lean. He wore an entire black suit with the exception of a dark burgundy tie which he clipped to his shirt with a pin resembling a coat of arms. Harry thought the pin looked rather familiar but didn't take too long to look at it.

'May I help you?' Harry heard himself saying. He usually said something along these lines to people who showed up on the front door, usually selling something or asking if their tank of religious spirituality was running empty.

'Is Mr. and Mrs. Dursley in?' the man asked. Harry shook a bit. The man hadn't spoken in a loud voice, but it was a deep and commanding tone. Judging by his accent, he was an American.

'Can you wait one moment please?' Harry asked.

'Certainly,' the man replied.

Harry walked into the living room and then into the kitchen. Aunt Marge was swaying in her chair a little bit. Uncle Vernon was playing solitaire at the table as Aunt Petunia was making coffee.

'Excuse me,' Harry said tentatively, 'But there's a man at the front door requesting to see you.'

Uncle Vernon's eyes shot up, to Harry then over to his wife.

'A man?' he asked gruffly.

'Yes, sir.'

'And what does he want?' Harry's uncle asked already heaving his massive form up to full height.

'He didn't say.'

Uncle Vernon stared at Harry for a moment then towards the living room. He pulled on his tie a bit so it looked straighter, buttoned up his jacket and headed for the door, Harry behind him, walking into the living room and taking a seat on the couch where it provided him a view of the front door.

Uncle Vernon walked into the living room as his eyes took in the young man standing in the doorway. Harry noticed that his Uncle took a sigh of relief and looked more genuinely happy as he noticed the man was wearing an expensive Muggle suit, rather than wizard robes.

'I am Vernon Dursley,' he said pulling himself up to full height, his head raised a bit, trying desperately to look regal or something.

If Harry was in the young man's shoes, he would have snorted; his Uncle looked ridiculous trying to act all pompous and important when he had splotches of gravy on the lapels of his coat. But the young man didn't smile, instead, he held out a hand for Uncle Vernon to take.

'Good evening, Mr. Dursley,' he said curtly. 'I am Mr. Castor. I am here representing the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition.'

As if this man had just become his new son, Vernon Dursley shook Castor's hand again, ushering him into the kitchen. As he passed Harry; however, he noticed Castor look directly at him, his eyes moving up a bit at his scar. The young man must have given Harry a look for about two seconds, but Harry couldn't get over the feeling that he had met that man before, or at least seen him. He looked so familiar.

'Petunia darling,' his Uncle roared, 'This fine young chap is from the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition.'

Harry crept into the kitchen, wanting to get another look at this Mr. Castor who was being shoved from the back by Vernon Dursley as he gracefully bowed to Mrs. Dursley.

'It is so nice to meet you, Mr. Castor,' she said fluffing her hair and smoothing out her apron. 'Please, won't you sit down?'

Mr. Castor unbuttoned his coat and sat down on the opposite end of the table, giving him as much distance from Aunt Marge, who looked bleary eyed and hadn't said a thing.

'How bout a touch of brandy?' Petunia asked sweetly, displaying her yellowing teeth.

'No,' said Mr. Castor. 'But thank you.'

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia each poured themselves a glass and sat down at the table, eyeing Castor with looks of eagerness and joy.

'So,' Vernon asked trying to sound nonchalant, 'What brings you down to our little house?'

Little House my ass. Harry thought. He really is trying to butter this guy up.

But Castor didn't answer. He was eyeing the front door and the massive form of

Dudley who was walking into the kitchen to take a look at Castor himself. Then he looked around the kitchen and into the backyard through the sliding glass door. His eyes then fell on Aunt Marge, who was now pouring herself another brandy while Mr. and Mrs. Dursley's attention was elsewhere.

'Actually,' Mr. Castor said, 'I am not here for the Best-Lawn competition.'

At this, Vernon and Petunia exchanged looks of nervousness until looking back at Castor, who was now eyeing the Dursley's distastefully.

'You're not?' they both asked simultaneously.

'No,' Castor said shortly. In the next instant, before Harry could register what was going on, Castor had stood up, pulled a wand from inside his coat pocket and aimed it at Aunt Marge.

Accio Brandy!

The bottle soared from Aunt Marge's hand and flew across the table, landing right next to Castor. Harry jumped up, pulled out his wand and aimed it at Castor's back. In a whirl, Castor turned on his heel, raised his hand, and Harry's wand flew from his grip and into Castor's outstretched grasp.

Aunt Marge took in all of this and immediately fainted, along with Dudley, which made the foundation of the kitchen shake as his and his Aunt's massive forms hit the cold hard tile floor. Harry and the Dursley's stood still, completely losing the ability to move or say anything.

Castor was now staring at Harry's wand, idly spinning it in his hand before placing it on the table and taking his seat. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley both looked at Castor with immense fear.

'You're a,' Petunia stammered, 'you're a –"

'A wizard,' Castor said tucking his wand back into his coat, 'yes, thank you for pointing out the blatantly obvious Mrs. Dursley,' he sneered, now eyeing the Dursleys with a look of intense dislike.

He looked over the table of the crumpled form of Aunt Marge.

'Apparently she had too much to drink,' he said.

Aunt Petunia stared at the still body of her sister along with her son, and Harry noticed that she was about two seconds away from following suit. Uncle Vernon; however, went livid.

'Now see here boy!' he snarled, pointing his chubby finger in the direction of Castor who sat in his chair, continuing to take a look around the kitchen, not a care in the world judging by his expression.

'I will not allow magic under my roof! How dare you waltz into our home under false pretenses and put my poor sister and son Dudley into shock.'

Harry stood still, Castor's back still to him. He was utterly defenseless without his wand, and surprisingly enough, it dawned on him that Castor had taken his wand without the use of his own, but by simply summoning it with a wave of his hand.

Castor stood up slowly, his wand still within his coat pocket, but Harry could feel the anger within him, noticing Castor's hand were in clenched fists, his knuckles turning transparent.

'Mr. Dursley,' he called calmly, 'I came here under false pretenses so as the neighbors would not get suspicious of my presence. I highly doubt a muggle like you would let me into your house otherwise if you knew what I truly am.'

Vernon Dursley didn't seem to believe him or even listen to what he had to say. Harry marveled at his Uncle's bravery in front of a fully skilled wizard. Harry however, came to the conclusion that Uncle Vernon would be acting much more timid if he was faced with Mad-Eye Moody rather than a young wizard without a scratch on him with the exception on a long thin scar that trailed above his right eyebrow.

'Now,' Castor went on calmly, 'I do not wish to cause you or your family any harm.'

Uncle Vernon eyed Castor suspiciously but with the young man's word sinking into his cranium, his boldness grew.

'I take it this is in regards to my good-for-nothing nephew,' he huffed.

Castor turned around and for the first time, took a long thorough look at him. Harry felt a bit subconscious as Castor's eyes darted from his baggy jeans and worn out trainers to his faded grey shirt. He gestured for Harry to take a seat at the table, and, with a little hesitation, Harry sat down.

'To be quite honest,' Castor said, and Harry noticed his eyes flash dangerously as he leaned across the table, 'I wouldn't be caught dead with the likes of you Muggles.'

Uncle Vernon stood up in his chair, his nostrils flaring, his face the darkest purple Harry had ever seen.

'I will not have some freak like you talk to me like that in my house,' he roared.

Harry backed away in his chair from the table. Uncle Vernon was an extremely large man, well over four hundred pounds, and the house shook when he roared like that. Castor, on the other hand, was glaring at him with fierce blue eyes.

'Sit down Dursley,' he growled.

'Get out of my house this instant,' he roared, pointing at Harry now, 'and take that useless nephew of mine with you.'

'But Vernon,' Aunt Petunia whimpered, 'the boy must stay until he is of legal age.'

'I don't care what some nutter old man who runs his school thinks!' Vernon said, glaring at his wife then back at Harry. 'This is the last draw Petunia! This thin useless irritating brat here has caused me enough grief for two lifetimes.'

'Don't push me Dursley,' Castor said in a whisper, this time unbuttoning his coat and slipping his hand inside.

'GET OUT!' Vernon roared. 'GET OUT OF MY HOUSE THIS INSTANT YOU FREAK!'

He made his way to reach across the table, both arms raised as to strangle Castor's neck. Castor put his foot on the table and pushed off, sliding a good ten feet away from the table, his wand outstretched.

Patrificus Totalus!

Uncle Vernon's eyes went wide in horror as the spell hit him between the eyes. His arms and legs went rigid and he fell with a heap next to Aunt Marge.

Aunt Petunia let out a horrifying screech.

Silencio! Castor hissed and Aunt Petunia immediately went silent.

Castor stood up from his chair and walked over to Aunt Petunia who was grasping her throat with two shaking hands, placed his hand upon her bony shoulder and pushed her down into her seat.

'Calm yourself,' Castor said to Aunt Petunia, tears now rolling down her cheeks.

Harry made to stand and pick up his wand which was still lying on the table.

'You sit where you are Potter,' Castor said sternly. 'I will deal with you in a minute.'

Reluctantly, Harry sat back down.

Castor eyed him for a moment, then turned his attention to Aunt Petunia.

'Now,' he said taking a seat right in front of her. 'I have heard of the stories on how you treat your nephew here. How he spent most of his life in a broom cupboard, the way you and your fat incompetent husband have mistreated him.'

Castor leaned forward so his face was an inch away from Aunt Petunia's.

'Personally,' he said in a dangerous whisper, 'Count yourself lucky you have such a nephew of integrity. Most wizards, regardless of their age, would have cursed you and your family into the next world if you were to mistreat them in any way.'

He stood up, tucking his wand back into his pocket.

'Now that I have your undivided attention,' he drawled, 'I am informing you that I am taking Potter into my custody for the remainder of the summer. He is going to leave this house in a few minutes, and I do not doubt it will be the last you see of him.'

He waved his hand in front of him, and clicked his fingers.

Finite.

Aunt Petunia's voice came back. She gave a chocked sob then looked up at Castor who's pale blue eyes were still looking upon her.

'Just so you know,' he said, 'That Albus Dumbledore was killed a week ago at this school. The protection surrounding this house for young Potter here is no longer adequate and I am relieving the burden you have dealt with for so long,' he finished in a voice dripping with sarcasm. 'Do you have a problem with that?'

Aunt Petunia let out a whimper which Castor registered was a "no."

'Excellent,' he said, not really meaning it, turning his gaze onto Harry. 'Go upstairs Potter. Get your trunk and anything else you'd like to take from this house. Also, tell that bird of yours to go to your friend Ronald Weasley's home, with a note instructing him to take care of the bird until you arrive at the Burrow for his brother's wedding.'

Harry stared at Castor for a minute, not moving, not really sure he wanted to leave with him. He hadn't heard anything of this man from the Order of the Phoenix, not one mention of him. Although he looked familiar, Harry was sure he'd never met him before, maybe perhaps seen him but that didn't give him a reassurance that this man was to be trusted. For all he knew, Castor was a Death Eater.

'What are you waiting for Potter,' he drawled. 'Get going.'

Harry stood frozen, eyeing his wand which still lay on the table.

Castor pulled out his wand, muttered an incantation and Harry felt his feet glide over the kitchen and trip over the thick rug of the living room. He fell on his back hard, Castor glaring at him, his wand outstretched.

'My patience is wearing thin, Potter,' he said angrily. 'Not get your shit and do as I say!'

Well, he's not here to kill me or he'd a done it by now.

Harry got back on his feet and dashed up the stairs leaving a very agitated wizard alone with his prejudice family.

It took him all but two minutes to repack his things and send Hedwig on his way to the Burrow. He wrote a small letter to Ron.

Ron,

Some wizard named Castor arrived at the Dursley's and is now taking me God knows where. He hasn't told me where we're going but he said that I will be at your place for the wedding. Take care of Hedwig for me until then. See you soon!

Harry.

The letter felt absurd. How was Ron suppose to not freak when he read that an unknown wizard had come to pick him up unannounced and take him without telling him where they were going. Harry remembered feeling nervous and vulnerable when Dumbledore had picked him up last year, and Harry trusted Dumbledore more than anyone else.

He heaved his heavy trunk downstairs and set it at the front door. He had no idea how he was leaving. He peered into the kitchen to see Castor speak in hushed whispers to Petunia. He pulled out his wand, which made Harry's Aunt jump back a bit in her chair and muttered Finite, pointing the wand at Uncle Vernon. He then put his wand back into his pocket and strode out of the kitchen.

'Ready Potter?' he asked.

'Yes, sir.'

Castor opened the door to the hard rain relentlessly pounding Privet Drive. Harry could make out a luxurious black sedan through the rain parked along the street.

Harry stored his trunk into the boot of the car and was about to step into the passenger seat when he heard a loud roar from behind him.

'HARRY POTTER!'

Harry whipped his head around to see Uncle Vernon run through the open front door, catching Castor off guard and knocking him to the ground with one beefy arm. He was running at a surprising rate right at Harry. He made to grab for his wand but remembered that Castor still had it. His Uncle was closing the gap between them. In a moment, Harry's whale size Uncle would knock him into the next week.

TARRANGULA!

Uncle Vernon's leg went rigid once more and he fell, face first into the goopy

mud of the front lawn. Castor stormed forward, wand out, looking angrier than any person could possibly look, the rain pounding the side of his face. He made a quick wand movement, pointed it back at Uncle Vernon then aimed his wand at the direction of the front door.

Vernon Dursley let out a yelp as he was hoisted ten feet in the air, then hurled like a football through the front door. A second later, a deafening crash was heard from the kitchen. Aunt Petunia's shrill scream filled the house and poured into the street. Castor waved his wand angrily once more and the front door of Privet Drive #4 slammed shut, shutting off the sounds of Petunia Dursley high pitched wailing. Castor rounded on Harry, his eyes looking ferocious, the grip on his wand tight and shaking. He jerked his head to Harry.

'Get in the fucking car,' he said angrily.

Harry got in, strapped on the seatbelt and waited patiently for Castor to walk across the other side and get into the driver seat. He slammed the door shut. He took a long draught from a pewter flask, and made a hefty grunt as he pulled out a cigarette and screwed it into his lips. He lit the end with Harry's wand, before handing it back to him.

'Thanks,' Harry said shortly.

Castor didn't answer for a moment until he finally spoke, his voice now more calm and collective.

'I'm taking you someplace more safe,' he said plainly.

'Uh, where?' Harry asked.

An evil smile appeared on Castor's lips.

'Sorry about this Potter,' he said, 'but you can't know where I live.'

Harry's mouth opened to ask why when Castor took out his wand and pointed it at him.

Dormirus!

Harry had time to blink before the spell hit him. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world, almost like getting hit with the Imperious Curse only there was no voice in his head telling him what to do. Instead, Harry felt the sudden urge to sleep. It felt wonderful, and he didn't even try to fight it. Before he closed his eyes, he felt the car make an abrupt jerk and Harry noticed that the car was starting to soar over the trees.

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed that chapter. I got one more left before the wedding at the Burrow. Thanks for reviewing Newcastle.