The average Thursday morning in Little Whinging included a misty fog, cloudy sky, and a dewy lawn. The current Thursday morning was a bit peculiar in that it was the exact opposite. The sky was blue, with a few white fluffy clouds, and the sun was shining brightly.
The change in pace didn't bother the resident wizard all too much, in fact it put him in a rather happy mood truth be told. Prone to wearing knitted sweaters that seemed a little snug and ill fitting, loose jeans three times his size which were only held up due to a very worn out old belt, and perpetually pale—to the neighborhood Harry Potter was a very strange neighbor indeed. Such an eccentric man, who obviously had a few screws loose, wasn't to be associated with per the neighborhood gossips.
Their whispers didn't bother Harry at all, and as he did his daily chores he lightly whistled a tune he remembered Fawkes singing once when he was visiting Professor Dumbledore. Harry really didn't care about the neighbors questioning whispers, wondering why he always wore a sweater even in the summer or why he never bought new jeans that would fit him. It was none of their business and even if it was Harry wouldn't talk about it anyway.
The sweaters were Christmas gifts that Molly Weasley sent him every year when she was still living. The care and love Molly had put into making them was a magic in and of itself, and her sweaters responded to that magic by resisting natural elements that could destroy them. That's not to say that the sweaters couldn't be ripped or burned, but bugs wouldn't chew holes into them, and substances like bleach wouldn't ruin the color or designs.
Unfortunately, while Harry treasured the sweaters Molly had hand knitted for him it was true that most of them were made a little too small, and all of them had childish images stitched into them. It seemed that Molly had never really stopped seeing Harry as the wide-eyed child she had first met at the Hogwarts Express. So, all the sweaters he received had either Quidditch related images or magical creatures sown on them.
While the sweaters were a part of Harry's past he treasured and loved, the jeans were a different story. Ironically, the hand-me-down clothes meant to cruelly remind Harry that he was unwanted and a burden to his biological family had survived longer than all his other clothes–excepting the sweaters. It came as a surprise to his surrogate family when Harry refused to throw them away when he first escaped from his relatives.
He felt like he needed those pants, and as the years passed Harry realized that those jeans reminded him of the harsher truths of the world. Whenever Harry started to take for granted the fact he could eat three meals a day, sleep in a warm fluffy bed, and not worry about the world around him the jeans would be there in the corner of his closet, a silent reminder to be grateful and to help others he met that didn't have such privilege.
Casting his thoughts and memories aside for another time, Harry paused in the middle of his morning chores. Gardening was a relaxing pastime for Harry, and he rather enjoyed seeing the blooming flowers that were the fruits of his labors. But, as Harry was weeding around his lilies and petunias a stuttering of his magic shocked him into stillness.
How long had it been since Harry had felt the stirring of his magic? With no magical society left, Harry had stopped using his magic a century back. There was no longer towering red-headed man to laugh with him when he accidentally transfigured his nose, into the trunk of an elephant, while trying to learn a new spell. Or, a bushy haired brunette know-it-all to help him fix his mistake, which he made worse trying to fix it himself.
As the years continued, Harry's continued existence was his only proof that the magical world had been real and not a figment of his mind. The shock Harry felt from his magic was a surprise and mystery. Harry hadn't consciously moved his magic, yet even now it was spinning and swirling around inside of him, as if something important was happening.
Snapping out of his shock, Harry jumped to his feet and raced into his house. Something was going on, Harry was sure, and if he didn't gather his most precious possessions now he had a feeling he would never see them again. Not questioning his sudden knowledge, Harry barreled up the stairs and burst through the door of number four, Privet Drive's smallest bedroom.
Gathering his sweaters and jeans, Harry placed them in a small duffel bag. Reaching into the drawer of his bedside table, Harry pulled out his Holly wand and for the first time in over a century used his magic. Unfortunately, because he was no longer used to using it, Harry's magic reacted strangely when he tried to activate it. Harry had intended to shrink the duffel bag down to the size of his palm and stuff it into his pocket. Instead the duffel bag became the size of a marble.
Not terribly surprised by the outcome of his first spell in centuries, Harry ignored it's not so complete success and tightened his grip on the marble sized duffel bag. There were quite a few holes in his jeans that the duffel bag could now fall through, Harry thought it best just to hold the mini duffel bag for now. Crouching down next to his bed, Harry pulled at a loose floor board working it until it opened with a crunch.
Underneath he found a small handbag. It was pink with small gems decorating it, overall rather girly and feminine, but for such a small thing it held the last pieces of Harry's magical past. Grabbing the handbag quickly, Harry carefully opened it and placed his marble sized duffel bag into it. Just as carefully as he opened the handbag Harry also closed it.
Just as Harry finished placing the long strap of the purse diagonally across his chest, he felt his magic burst out of him. It was like a giant wave of pure magic and intent washed over him. Harry was helpless as he felt the familiar hooking in his navel, indicating he was transporting far away from his current location.
All Harry could think afterwards, was that he should have known something was going to happen. After all Mad Eye always told him if he didn't have "Constant Vigilance!" that it would come back to bite him in the arse.
I've edited this chapter to the best of my abilities. Hope it's easier to read now. :)