DUMBLEDORE'S VISIT

Harry Potter was sitting quietly in his hand-me-down room, glancing out of the window. Night had completely descended upon Privet Drive, coloring the world outside Harry's bedroom window black and gloomy, except for the flickering street lamps through the mist. His room remained just as dark in hopes that the Dursley's would think him asleep. The only light came from the scroll-length poster hastily tacked on the wall neck to the door. The bright orange, moving figure of Joey Jenkins as he walloped a bludger to the chaser of the Ballycastle Bats seemed luminescent in the darkness. It gave off a phosphorescent glow that reminded Harry almost immediately of his friend Ron.

Reminded of his friend, the dark-haired wizard was released from his temporary paralysis. He swung his legs over the opposite side of the bed to his nightstand and turned on the light. Temporarily blinded, he struggled to find a spare bit of parchment, ink, and a quill as well as the letter he received only five minutes from the inconspicuous owl sitting on his windowsill. Smoothing out the letter, Harry's eyes grazed over the words.

Harry,
Mum's talked to Dumbledore and he thinks you can come spend the rest of the holiday with me and Mione. If you can come, just reply yes.
Ron

Harry quickly scrawled an acceptance on his parchment in his clumsy cursive, thinking of nothing happier than to spend the rest of the summer in the Burrow with his friends.

The Dursleys, after their talk with a few of the Order of the Phoenix members, had been suspiciously quiet around Harry. They didn't bother him, or insult him as much as they previously had, most likely out of fear that Mad-Eye Moody would hex the lot of them into next year. Though, Aunt Petunia did seem more offended by Tonks's bright pink hair more than the other wizards' threats of violence.

Harry delighted in their silence at first; sometimes to be alone is the best medicine for someone in mourning - he had just lost his god-father, Sirius Black near the end of the past school year. However, comfort is more important than silence, and at the Dursleys' Harry didn't get a tad of sympathy.

The wizard shook his head to clear his thoughts, turning to the black owl on his windowsill, nipping into Hedwig's foodstores. First, Harry offered him an owl treat, which caused Hedwig to glare at him angrily. While the owl nipped at the treat, Harry tied the letter to its leg artfully.

"Don't give the letter to anyone but Ron," Harry instructed, "and don't go the usual way. Don't get followers."

The dark owl "hoo'd" impatiently, hopping off of Harry's arm to the windowsill. She stretched slightly, shook her empty leg, and cocked her head, like an Olympic medalist about to swim the meter. With uncanny grace, she ascended the sky, disappearing into the stars.

Harry watched the owl fly into the night until he couldn't see her any longer. With a long sigh, he turned to his next task – reading evening edition of The Daily Prophet.

Turning on the nightstand light, Harry pulled out the newspaper from underneath his pillow. The black and white paper had a large, moving picture of the new minister, Rufus Scrimgeour, standing atop a podium - behind him the ex-minister, Cornelius Fudge, was waving his bowler. The heading proclaimed, Head of Auror Department Becomes Next Minister.

Harry's eyes grazed over the words without exactly reading them. He wasn't interested in the complaints of the wizarding world exactly. The way Harry thought it, thousands of ministers could come and go, but he doubted that any of them could do what needed to be done to off Voldemort. Harry half-wished that Dumbledore had taken the spot as minister, but he knew it wasn't likely; the head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would most likely rather eat five handfuls of vomit flavored Bertie Bott's than be Minister of Magic for only an hour.

The rest of the newspaper was in flux; half of it spent too much time on ridiculous stories, such as the new robe fashions for the upcoming autumn, while the other half told stories of disappearances. Harry spent far more time reading the mysterious death of Alexander Lamport than he did on popular venues in Diagon Alley.

Pamphlets on how to keep a wizarding family safe from Death Eaters, Dementors, and something called Inferi, were tucked in-between the pages of the paper. Some of it, Harry deemed useless. The directions on how to complete a full-fledged patronus were lacking, as well as some curses.

And of course, the newspaper was filled with thoughtlessly placed apologies to Harry Potter "the Chosen One", along with references to all the ridiculous occurrences that happened to him during his wizarding career. Harry couldn't necessarily complain about that. It was less than a year ago he gave a special interview to Rita Skeeter about what happened during the Tri-Wizard Cup. And naturally, there were others who came forward with information as well (some of it falsified, but a lot of it actually real) to get their names printed in the paper.

For the millionth time since the fight at the Ministry months ago, Harry wondered if he preferred the wizarding world ignorant to Voldemort's rise to power. During the haze of nonchalance from the Prophet, Harry picked up a strong sense of panic and the fact that no one seemed to be doing a blessed thing. The Order's efforts were hushed in order to keep their members safe so Harry didn't know what was occurring for them, though he had no doubt that they were working diligently. The rest of the wizarding community, however, seemed to be running around in a panic and not trying to fight back. Nothing spectacular changed for the better with the knowledge of Voldemort public, except for the fact Harry wasn't considered unhinged - though the worship he was gaining was just as aggravating.

Then again, perhaps Harry deserved that sort of treatment. The prophecy spoke of Harry being the sole ender of Voldemort once and for all. "…either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. …" was the exact wording, but it didn't lessen the blow at all.

Harry glanced at the quill resting on the nightstand - he'd yet to tell Hermione or Ron about what he saw in Dumbledore's pensieve. He sorely doubted that it was something to write in a letter.

Instead, Harry tossed his head back on the pillow, waiting impatiently to finish the rest of his useless summer vacation in the Burrow. He wouldn't have to keep his thoughts to himself there.

*

Like every other day, Harry awoke by the pecking of a tawny barn owl on his head. He pushed at the wretched creature, trying to find the draw where he hid his wizarding money. Placing five Knuts in the small pouch around the bird's foot, Harry simultaneously grabbed the morning edition of the Prophet. And like every other day, Harry watched the bird dip his beak into Hedwig's water bowl before climbing back into the skies.

To keep his mind off of the unnerving fact Harry's sleep was vacant of dreams, his sleepy eyes grazed over the paper religiously. Deeming it unimportant as usual, he slid out of his room and into the bathroom.

Harry showered - something he only did late at night or early in the morning so neither of the Dursley's could complain he used all of the hot water. Harry, who usually bathed rather quickly in five minutes, now took a half-hour. He would rub his skin raw, and shampoo his hair several times mechanically as his mind drifted. Showering, like everything else Harry did, was done without thought; his mind was reserved for more important things.

Slipping out of the bathroom dressed, he ran downstairs (quietly, mind you) and out of the house. He picked up the muggle newspaper at the door and poured over it, wanting to find anything mildly suspicious. Harry's was rewarded today.

BROCKDALE BRIDGE COLLAPSES
Seemingly the cause of rust, the Brockdale Bridge collapsed last night leaving behind no survivors. The bridge, which sees over five-thousand passing cars each day, was in "great shape" before the collapse. Past examinations report that the bridge wasn't due for maintenance for the next several years, however there is no other explanation for the sudden break-down. The Chief of City Maintenance, Jonathan Bowne is under heavy fire for the bridge failure, which hasn't been the first in the past few months. "I have absolutely no excuse for these collapses," he told reporters this morning. See page five

Harry ran a hand through his hair, reading the rest of the dull report. No one has claimed bodies yet, so no names had been announced. The rest of the paper was seemingly dull - nothing unexpected or unusual. Sighing and riddled with a sense of uselessness, Harry went for his morning jog around Little Whinging.

Summer was coming to a close, he decided. The air had a crisper taste than its usual heady humidity. Harry was secretly delighted - he was sick of the humidity and fog and gloom.

He was out for about an hour and a half, altering between a light jog, a sprint, and a brisk walk. Head cleared, Harry returned to Privet Drive to find his Uncle Vernon tucking the muggle paper under his arm. He turned his back to Harry, retreating into the house.

The rest of the household was awake. He could see Dudley's round bottom sticking up in the air as he fished in the bottom of the fridge for snacks before breakfast. The diet he was on had a nice crash and burn. He supposedly lost twenty pounds, but Harry thought secretly that if Dudley lifted his shirt he'd find it.

Harry's Aunt Petunia was by the stove, fixing morning tea and breakfast. Her horse-like face shot Harry a contemptuous look. "You better not have tracked dirt in."

"I didn't," Harry said automatically as he walked over to the sink. Taking a glass from the cabinet, he filled it with water and took the seat farthest from his Uncle Vernon at the table.

"Oh Dudders," Aunt Petunia cooed in a voice only reserved for her fat son. "I don't think that cupcakes before breakfast is healthy."

"Rubbish," Vernon growled from underneath his walrus-like mustache. "He's a growing boy - runs through billions of calories just sitting around. I've enough of that healthy nonsense. Want to starve you off rabbit food, they do."

Harry looked over at his cousin, whose face was filled with chocolate cupcake and supposed Vernon to be right; it did seem like Dudley got billions of calories just sitting around.

"But Duddy-kin's school said -."

"What?" Dudley interjected, his mouth full of food. "You wannme to look like tha 'un?"

And by "tha 'un" Dudley of course meant Harry. Six beady eyes scrutinized Harry's thin frame. Over the years since Hogwarts, Harry had eaten more. It fixed his once malnourished look, putting meat on his bones. And from Quidditch (as well as many of his extracurricular quests), Harry gained some muscle - not enough to make him look anything more than gangly, but enough to help him fill out his school robes quite nicely. By no means, however, was Harry even half the monstrous weight of Dudley.

Aunt Petunia's face greened slightly - obviously she didn't think Harry's shape was healthier than her "Dudders".

"You're right, baby," Petunia finally admonished. "I'm sure the more meat on your bones the healthier you are."

Just as Vernon was about to hum his agreement, a deafening "pop" sounded throughout the house. Petunia shrieked as a lanky man appeared in the parlor.

Wearing long robes the color of the night-sky, and a hat with embroidered stars, Professor Dumbledore looked nothing less a wizard. His eyes were sparkling over his crescent moon glasses, and his left hand held his wand quite casually – as if he was holding nothing more important than a pen.

"Ah, I apologize, Mrs. Dursley for giving you such a fright," Dumbledore said in his pleasant baritone. "And also for appearing unannounced, Mr. Dursley. Quite rude of me, quite rude…."

Uncle Vernon's mouth was moving soundlessly, his face turning quickly to a violent shade of crimson that Harry only saw on rarer and rarer occassions. He must have swallowed his tongue, or was so mad at Dumbledore (or so afraid) that he was stolen temporarily of breath. His wife, however, was using Dudley's massive body as a shield, her thin lips parted in an O. Dudley just stared apprehensively, his hands gripping his bottom as he usually did when a wizard was near.

With extreme casualness, Dumbledore stepped into the kitchen and offered a hand to Vernon, who stared at it like it was a snake. "I see… I must have interrupted breakfast. Again, I apologize. I would never have committed such an act of disrespect if I had not needed to see Harry," the wizard continued, gazing over his glasses at the boy for the first time since arrival.

"Is…is everything alright?" Harry immediately asked, hastily tacking a "sir" at the end.

Dumbledore's tranquil expression didn't waver. "There is something we must attend to with the utmost importance soon enough before I leave you at the Burrow. I hope that you have already packed. "

Harry hesitated before turning a bit red. "I think there may have been a few things I've forgotten…. Excuse me, professor."

"By all means, Harry," Dumbledore said cheerily. "Don't excuse yourself. I remember a time in my young age when I was just as untidy as any other adolescent. But there'll be another day for recollections of my youth. Take your time." With that, he sat comfortably at the kitchen table, turning Uncle Vernon a shade darker.

Harry ran up to his room and immediately began collecting his items and tossing them messily into his trunk. It wasn't exactly time consuming - Harry had few possessions, and most of those were his school things. Hefting his trunk over his shoulder, his eyes fell onto Hedwig's cage - she still hadn't returned from her early morning hunt. He decided to bring that along as well. Juggling the two heavy items downstairs was more of a challenge than Harry had talent for - he almost collapsed if Dumbledore hadn't sensed his trouble and decided to assist.

"Don't worry about Hedwig," Dumbledore said when Harry began to ask about her. "I directed her to the Burrow. She's safe and awaiting you." He casually waved his wand over the assortment of Harry's possessions and they disappeared into thin air. Harry watched his Uncle's expression and smirked - Vernon was staring incredulously between the two wizards.

"Ah, now," Dumbledore continued, ignoring the Dursleys. "Before we leave, there are some matters to attend to. Did you breakfast, Harry?"

"Er…, no?"

The older wizard frowned, creasing his entire face. "That's quite irresponsible, Harry. In this heat, you need energy before running around. No matter." He sighed and waved his wand again. This time, however, a two enchanted pans flew to the stove. The fridge opened and two eggs cracked themselves and landed in one pan - six slabs of bacon on the other.

"Do you like your eggs sunny-side or scrambled?" Dumbledore asked while a whisk wavered in the air. "I would offer dropped, however it's tricky to accomplish with magic and I am much out of practice."

"Scrambled is fine," Harry said awkwardly, watching breakfast being made magically. Aunt Petunia was in an awe; her body positioned itself to either try and stop the floating items or crouch farther behind her son in fear. She whimpered when the whisk was thrown haphazardly in the sink, muttering "my poor kitchen."

"Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley," Dumbledore said cheerily while a plate was served on the table (a fork, napkin, and glass of orange juice flew to the table as well, which all coincidentally nearly smacked Dudley upside the head). "May I have a word whilst Harry eats?"

"Depends," was all Uncle Vernon could croak out. His wife shot him a dirty glare, as if she heartily disagreed.

"Now, as we all know, I was the one who had placed Harry on your doorstep, and I was the one who had the great expectation that you would treat him fairly in your home. He may not have been of your blood, Vernon, but he was of your lovely wife," Dumbledore began, steepling his hands on his lap. "However, you neglected him and abused him. I cannot forgive that nor will I understand and sympathize. I see that your wife is poisoned against the wizarding community because of jealousy - I see that you are poisoned against us because of fear. However, I will not and cannot understand that. It is unacceptable.

"I know I am brazen to walk into another man's home and preach to him his wrongs yet I see a perfect reason; Harry. Despite your deep loathing of him, he grew into an extremely talented and kind young man. Thus, he has gained extremely powerful and loyal friends.

"And so, I move onto the more crucial of facts." Dumbledore was now playing with his wand, sending tiny sparks as he tossed it. Vernon was watching the wand apprehensively, the vein in his forehead throbbing at a boiling point. Petunia let out a squeak of fear each time a miniature flare flickered into the air. "When I placed Harry at your doorstep, I invoked an old magic. By housing him with a blood relative, I made sure Harry was safe until he came of age, which is seventeen in the wizarding world."

"Rubbish," Uncle Vernon snarled. Dumbledore continued as if he didn't interject.

"So I ask Harry to use Privet Drive as a safe harbor for one summer more – until his seventeenth birthday. I may not be able to speak you into treating Harry with moderate kindness ; I may not be able to convince you to love him, like all others who have met him do (you are completely ignorant to the fact you are housing an incredible young man, and wizard)," at that Harry choked a bit on his scrambled eggs, forcing Dumbledore to wave his wand to dislodge the food; "but I may remind you of those powerful and loyal friends, who may not think twice about righting this situation like I have."

"Are you threatening me?" Uncle Vernon demanded. His face turned a horrid deep plum.

"Actually, I am not. I am promising you," Dumbledore clarified, leaning forward. "If Harry suffers cruelty by your hands, I am not capable of stopping all those from making you suffer a bit."

"That's against your law," Dudley finally said, his plump cheeks filling up with red.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I'm sure that our ministry has a lot more on their hands at the moment to worry about a few stray hexes and charms."

A bracing silence filled the kitchen. Uncle Vernon was glaring himself plum, his vein jumping out of his head cartoonishly. Dudley was gripping his bottom so tightly his face was tightening in pain. Aunt Petunia looked as if she was going to faint, and Harry was staring disbelievingly at the scene unfolding.

"I believe we must be going," the wizard finally said, his voice oddly cheerful. "Now Harry, I don't suppose you've Apparated before, now have you?"

Harry swung his head slowly back and forth, his jaw still dropped in amazement.

"Just grab my arm tightly," Dumbledore instructed. Harry did so. "I shouldn't have made you ate before this. I hope you have a strong stomach, Harry."

And the world gave out beneath him.

A/N: Again, a bit synonymous with HP6, but please allow me such allowances. Next chapter will be Malfoy's perspective, and for a majority of this fic, it will alternate between the two.
Happy Reading,
Eulalie