The True Journey of Harry Potter

Chapter 2 – Welcome to Avalon, Young Mr. Potter

The morning of November 2, 1981 saw Petunia Dursley, nee Evans opening her front door. There, on the step, she found a bundle of clothes. Seeing what was in the bundle, she did the only thing she was good at. Petunia Dursley screamed shrieking like there was no tomorrow and did not care for one in her life what her neighbor might think.

Vernon Dursley ran down stairs wondering why his beautiful (in his eyes) wife was screaming. Water drifted down his fat body, a towel hastily tied around his lower torso.

"What's wrong, Pet?" he asked.

Unable to speak, Petunia pointed down at the bundle shakily. Vernon picked the thing up and saw the envelope. Seeing something connecting to the freakish thing his wife once told him, Vernon ushered his wife in to the living room closing the door harshly.

An owl watched the scene intently before flying away.

Roughly, three years later, a four-year-old boy was scrubbing the kitchen floor. He did not know what he did wrong this time, not that he could question his aunt or uncle. He just did what they told him to. The poor boy did not even know his name, being called 'Freak' or 'Boy' or just only 'You' all this short life. At least, his aunt was not that cruel, she taught him some. He learnt to speak, much earlier than his cousin. He learnt to read and write; to be able to read the instructions or doing chores and running errand for his aunt or uncle. He learnt to count and doing basic math even before his age to attend the primary school.

His reputation in the neighborhood was not what one would desire. He was the disturbing boy of No. 4, Private Drive. No one cared for him. Sweet Petunia always told her friends in their afternoon tea party what an insolent brat he was.

His little mere months older cousin, Dudley, was at the back door. Harry knew immediately what the devil cousin was going to do. Dudley was stepping into the kitchen with his boots muddy more than ordinary level since it was summer and the earth was dry. Seeing his cousin's trick to get him into more trouble, Harry did something he did not knew it would get him more than trouble, unknowingly wished Dudley to fly out of the kitchen. Dudley, wide eyes, shrieked girlishly flying out like some kind of force pushed him into the air and landed in his mother's precious bed of roses, a masterpiece of her works – or to be frank, her nephew's.

Petunia Dursley was in the living at the time doing who-know-what. Hearing her son, she rushed into the kitchen seeing the boy knelt on the floor, the kitchen door opened, and her son outside in the rose bushes – her roses. She assumed immediately that it was her nephew doing. Without much thought she picked up the broomstick and lashed it on her nephew screaming her lungs out that he caused all of it.

Harry denied her claims, but not for long. He was unconscious long before his aunt noticed it. Trembling, Petunia lifted his figure to touch the boy's throat noting that he was still breathing and pulsing. She dragged the boy into the cupboard noticing that there was blood oozing from his mouth. She did not care. She would need to clean the particular stain herself later, but at the moment she was satisfied. She might beat the m… no, the freakish out of him yet.

Unseen by anyone, there was a cat, half kneazle, watching outside of the windowpane up on a tree. The cat leapt down and ran to his mistress. Arabella Figg was dropping her shopping bags when Mr. Tibbles ran in meowing loudly. She knew immediately there was something happening. Mr. Tibbles was on his duty watching No.4 today and his meow frantically means danger to life. She went to floo-call Dumbledore.

The flame flared green for a moment and she was so frustrated not seeing the headmaster of Hogwarts in his office. There was an odd sound though. The glass balls on the shelf behind his desk for radiating red lights, some of the balls had red smoke in them. Mrs. Figg tried calling Albus for about 5 minutes to no avail. The red lights in the room receded, the sound subdued and everything went to normal once again. She decided to call him again later. Now, she would need to find a good reason to visit Petunia Dursley.

Once Arabella Figg's head was gone from the fireplace, the portraits of ex-headmaster of Hogwarts began to talk. And in a moment of loud noises, there was a flash of flame. Fawkes appeared on its perch. Hearing the conversation, if you can call that dispute, he knew it was time to act. Wizardkinds would never admit any other form of magic than theirs. But phoenixes had their own magic to work. Fawkes flew above the room and started flying in circle. A circle of flames erupted and in another flash, white light shone covering the room. All portraits stop talking and everything appeared as though the past 15 minutes had nothing particularly happened at all. Pleased with himself, Fawkes disappeared from the room to inform his true master.

Back in No. 4, Private Drive, Petunia just finished wiping the blood from her floor. The knock on the front door startled her for a second. She straightened herself, sinister smile on her face and opened the door to greet whoever was there.

"Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Figg," She exclaimed.

Arabella Figg smiled her best before replied. "Good afternoon, Petunia, dear," She acted as though disturbed and said, "I need a hand in my house this evening, Petunia. I'm wondering if you could lend the boy to help me."

Petunia was crying in her head. She thought quick before giving the only thing that came up in her mind. "Does it really need to be today, Mrs. Figg? I would love to send the boy, but he went with Vernon this morning. I'm not quite sure when they'll be back today."

Being an old squib did not mean she was stupid. But the reply struck her. Didn't know what to say, Mrs. Figg just smiled sadly, "that's quite alright. I would leave it for today and wait till the boy can come. Sorry for disturbing, my dear."

Petunia felt relieved and her manner kicked in. "Oh, my! Where's my manner? Would you like to come in? Having a cup of tea?"

Mrs. Figg declined the offer and bade good bye. The old lady walked away grumbling something about cats and stuff. Petunia sighed heavily behind the door. Now, what did she have to do with boy?

She would have to make sure the boy was alive and healed. But she knew; the freakish thing would heal him fast. It happened all the time anyway. One day last year, or was it earlier, the boy was summoning the toy Dudley was playing and refused to share. That was the first time Vernon saw it with his own eyes the 'M' thing. He slapped the boy hard that he landed on the corner of the table and got blood. The next day, the wound was healed without a sign of any injury. Then just yesterday, she told the boy to clear up the cupboard and 20 minutes later, it was done. Petunia was sure it should take longer, but the boy seemed to do it with that thing. She knew the boy did not know about magic, she had made sure of it. So, how did this entire freakish thing happen?

There was a secret, though. The secret that Harry would not let anyone knew about. In the cupboard under the stairs, where he resided, there was a corner right behind a box he used to put his belongings. The corner was something unusual, not a thing found in a muggle home, not even in a wizard house.

He just found out about the corner yesterday when he was ordered to clean up the unkempt little space his uncle was gratefully given him to live in. There used to be a box of fake Christmas tree in the corner. His aunt told him to put all things in the cellar and leave only his belongings in the cupboard, well, and some cleaning equipments for the daily basis, which took up much of the space available. The little space left was the corner where his had his box placed in the corner and a foot or two wide enough for him to stand and the cot. Harry did not care for luxury; he knew it was what he worth, not that his aunt or uncle forgot to remind him every once in a while.

A few hours passed by, Harry was starting to get conscious. He winced as he tried to sit up. It was dark outside, but there were lights from the kitchen and the living room. So, he knew his relative was still awake according to the voice of his uncle loudly praising his son for something and accusing Harry for being irresponsible, "slept all day, that brat needs some lessons." His aunt was trying to calm her husband saying it was alright, that she could handle the boy.

Harry sighed hard in the dark cupboard. He missed dinner again today; luckily he did get something to eat for breakfast. Try to breathe slowly, Harry sat on his cot and began to think of what to do until sleep came again. Then he remembered the corner. It was just not an ordinary corner like anywhere around the house. Why? There was a small hold on the floor in that corner. Harry first thought it was some stains and tried to wipe it with the towel he was using to scrub the floor. However, every time he went near the spot, he felt some kind of a pull like an electric shock though not the harm way. He thought of telling his aunt, but decided against it. Who knew what she would do? He always got the blame if there was something out of ordinary around the house.

Now, though, he had times and was left alone. Harry dropped down on the floor and crept to the spot lifting his belongings box and placed it on the cot. This time the pull felt stronger and once he touch the spot, Harry felt a pull in his naval and a swoosh sound were heard in the room. Of course, no one heard it for the occupants of the house were watching a loud television and Harry was not there anymore to hear it.

After the pull behind his naval, Harry felt being lifted and spun. He kept his eyes closed not knowing what to do at the point. Then, he was dropped, so high that he screamed with fear. He landed on a soft landing. Opened his eyes, Harry noted that he was now on a bed made of leaves. He was surrounded by trees and the clear sky above showing the starry night. Harry looked around, fear crept to his heart.

"Welcome to the Avalon, young Mr. Potter," someone in the dark called out.

Harry looked frantically around. The voice seemed to come from everywhere. "Where… where are you?" he asked.

A dark figure walked from under the tree line. The first glimpse was that the person was very old. An old man with pure white hairs, long beard touching the floor, he hold out his hand to help the young boy up. "Again, Mr. Potter, welcome to Avalon."

Harry decided to take the hand, but still not quite sure if he should be scared or not. "Good evening, sir," he said. "Thank you."

Once up, Harry narrowed his eyes for a clear look on the face of the old man. Not just old, this person was ancient. Seeing his look, the old man smiled thinking the boy was suspicious. "Don't be alarmed, my dear boy. All shall be answered. But first let's get comfortable, shall we? Come along. I believed Morgana cooked something special for our first meeting."