The owl flew on silent wings through the evening as it mixed with the dull thud of light from countless street
lamps. A patchwork of tarmac and roofing tiles splashed with the occasional green square were all the directions the
owl had, but it knew where it was going. Tipping one wing slightly it twisted into a perfect landing on a narrow window
ledge. It's head moved from side to side peering through the glass. The bed lay made but unused and an empty
birdcage stood in one corner. A few pieces of furniture added to the gathering shadows, it was clear that the room was
empty and whoever lived there didn't intend to come back in a hurry. The sound of television floated up from a
window below but the owl had already gone, there was only one wizard who lived at number four Privet drive and at that
moment he was not watching the shopping channel.
Harry sat cross-legged on the comfortable, if slightly odd, Knight Bus. He looked at the envelope a slightly confused
attendant had passed to him after he'd paid the eleven sickles needed for the journey to London. (He didn't
feel like hot chocolate.) With a slight shake of his head he opened the messily sealed paper and tried to read the
rushed message. It took him a few moments to decipher the rough untidy scrawl.
You are reminded that travelling may not be the best option in 'these' circumstances. However, if you
insist don't leave Diagon Alley. - Moody
PS - Ware the pin.
Cryptic but to the point - they were still watching him. He looked around for a moment and then spotted the pin
fixed to the bottom of the note, he leant forwards with a sigh and let his forehead bang against the cold glass window.
The lurching movements of the bus travelled through his skull and made his teeth rattle, he didn't care, he'd
told them where he was going at least twice and yet they still thought he needed to be reminded how to behave. Taking
the pin from the paper he studied it for a moment it was nothing special, just a pin with a green head. With another
sigh he fixed it to the inside of his collar. The loud bang of the bus stopping reminded him of his surroundings
suddenly he was very tired, stuffing the letter into his pocket he lay back and tried to sleep.
"Mr James, Mr. James." Harry opened his eyes and lay perplexed for a moment. Slowly he realised that the
voice was talking to him. "We're approaching your stop sir."
"Wha's that? Oh!? Yes my stop, uh, thanks." Still half-asleep Harry walked to the door the attendant
followed with his trunk, straining a little. The door slid open and Harry stepped out onto the street in front of the
Leaky Cauldron. "Thanks for the ri..," he didn't bother to finish as the bus was already gone. Still
tired he stood for a moment surrounded by the imperfect darkness, he'd used part of his father's name as an
alias, it hadn't dawned on him at the time but now it had. He shrugged and dragged his trunk towards to door of the
Cauldron.
Harry's eyes flickered open to an unfamiliar ceiling. It took him a brief moment to remember where he was, this was
happening too often he decided. Headwig offered a complaining sound from the corner as he sat up, good; she'd got
here safely. He got washed and chose clothes mechanically before walking into the busy common room. He checked his
watch and stifled a gasp that quickly turned into a yawn. It was eleven; he wanted to up a seven to avoid crowds. It
quickly dawned on him that standing there yawning was a good way of attracting unwanted attention. He quickly found an
empty table suitably out of the way and sat down. A copy of the Daily Profit had been left next to the seasoning so he
flicked through it. 'The He Who Must not be Named Report' was in full swing it seemed (the Profit encouraged
people to write in with sightings and reports.) An elderly wizard in Leeds claimed that Voldemort had taken over the
local super market chain while a witch from Surrey swore blind that Death Eaters had been stealing her cats. Harry
threw down the paper in disgust as soon as Tom arrived to take his order.
"What'll it be Harry?" The old man enquired with an enthusiasm that was almost contagious.
"I'll just have some tea please." Harry managed to get the words out around another yawn.
Fifteen minutes later Harry was on the bright streets of Diagon Alley feeling refreshed and happier than he had been in
a long time. The busy street did far more to wake him up than the tea had done, with a newfound energy he walked
towards Gringots.
An owl landed on the sill of room eleven. Swooping in it dropped its parcel carefully on the highly polished desk and
swept out again, ignoring Headwig's greeting. The bird's flight had taken it into the daylight hours and now
all it wanted was rest. Something swooped down from the eves intent on rest of a different sort for the weary bird;
sharp talons met with ruffled feathers in a mesh of predator and unnatural prey.