Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Books 1- 6. Stop reading right now if you don't want spoiled. I mean it. Right Now.
Synopsis: My version of how Book 7 might be set.
Authors Note: Wow, it has been a while since I updated. Sorry, but I've been working on a comic script for a friend, and getting paid does have to take precedent. Unfortunately, the scope of that project means that this will be the last chapter for a while. I will continue working on it when I have time, but posts will be sporadic at best. Thank you for your patience and indulgence. Nothin' but love to you.
Also, I have a new, very short story called `Unrequited' posted over at Fanfiction.net. It kinda violates Rule 2, so I can't post it here, but it has some HHr, although as you can guess by the title, it doesn't end that way. Check it out under my author profile at http://www.fanfiction.net/u/888796/. I have some other stuff there as well. TTFN ;D
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, and is not in any way canon. I do not own these characters; JK Rowling and the various worldwide publishers of the HP franchise own them. I am simply borrowing them for a short time, and promise to return them in reasonably pristine condition. Any and all references to other shows, books, or fandoms are intentional and the property of their respective owners, but this work is in no way, shape, or form intended to be a crossover. I just want to give subtle nods to other great stories (or I'm just too lazy to put much thought into coming up with my own unique names). Any historical errors are made with a purpose (after all, according to Rowling, Dudley had a Playstation in the early to mid-nineties). I'm not familiar with many of the inheritance laws or guardianship laws in the UK, so I'm using what I know about.
***************************************
Without friends no one would choose to live, though he has all other goods.
--Aristotle.
Morning light found Harry already stretching out on the front walk of the Dursley's house. A black sleeveless tee dwarfed his lanky frame as he bent at the waist and pressed his palms flat to the ground. He held the position for a few moments, feeling the muscles of his legs begin to loosen before standing up again. A few lunges later, he switched on his cassette player and ran down the street.
Harry jogged in silence for a few moments, glad for the momentary solitude. When running with Dudley, he couldn't help but feel that he was in constant competition with the older athlete. The drive to prove himself to others wasn't currently present as he rounded the corner onto the main avenue through Little Whinging. He breathed deeply, the moist air filling his lungs, providing a rush of oxygen to his brain and muscles. The slap-slap of his feet on the pavement dulled his senses just far enough to allow him a chance to think.
The arrival of Ron and Hermione had driven home the reality and inevitability of what he was soon to face, and that thought had kept Harry from sleeping until well after the witching hour. He could only imagine the next several months of searching and training that lay before the three friends, and the amount of time it would take to simply find the Horcruxes, let alone destroy them, wasn't guaranteed.
He still wasn't sure about letting his friends come along on this trip; they had been fortunate thus far, but luck would run out soon enough and Harry didn't want to be responsible for them being injured. He still suffered from nightmares involving mer-people and the Department of Mysteries, and the thought of his friends suffering even worse accidents would put him into a cold sweat.
He was also worried about what they were giving up to stand by him. Ron's family, especially his mother, was sure to be furious at his dropping out on the heels of Fred and George, not to mention the sheer level of danger that he would surely face. Then there was Hermione; Harry didn't even know where to begin listing the things she would be giving up. An almost guaranteed position as Head Girl should Hogwarts reopen, separation from her family who might not understand what was going on, and Harry knew that she constantly fretted over him.
With a grimace, Harry realized that he couldn't afford to let them come with him. The next few months, possibly the next few years, would alternate between moments of extreme danger and insufferably long periods of tedious searching. Besides which, the prophecy was very explicit. Only he, Harry Potter, could end this conflict. Only he could defeat Voldemort. Anyone else would be unable to help him end the fighting, end Voldemort. This was his fight and his fight alone. He would do nothing until after the wedding, but he had to decide on a way to leave them behind.
His footsteps pounded along the sidewalk as he neared the main thoroughfare of Little Whinging. His pace slowed until he was walking leisurely alongside the busy street. Harry watched the cars pass on the way to drop children at school or deliver commuters to London. He bitterly envied the Muggles, contentedly pursuing their simplistic goals, blessedly naive to the danger they were in. Harry reminded himself that he was one of the few in the Muggle world that knew the truth; that aside from some strange accidents over the last year and the seemingly ever-present mist, the population at large had no idea a war was being waged over the future of the magical and non-magical citizens of the British Isles.
The blaring of a car horn, accompanied by the screeching of abused brakes, ripped Harry from the funk into which his thoughts were sinking. He spun towards the source of the noise, his hand reaching for his wand, when he felt his stomach clench and his heart plummet into his well-worn trainers. Vernon Dursley was struggling to climb out of his car, the tires of which were smoking from the violence of its deceleration. Harry bit his lip, almost drawing blood, to refrain from laughing at his uncle's attempt to get out of the car.
Vernon lunged out the door, but in his haste had forgotten to unfasten the safety harness, which promptly yanked him back into the vehicle. He struggled for a moment, his massive girth making it difficult to reach beneath himself to release the catch, when he finally unhooked it with a great yank. This had the effect of unceremoniously dumping Vernon onto the ground facing the sky. Harry felt his stomach muscles convulse as he practically bit his fist in an attempt to contain his mirth.
Finally, the elder Dursley staggered to his feet, attempting to preserve some semblance of the dignity that had long since deserted him. Harry steeled himself as Vernon waddled forward, his face a florid expression of rage. Sweat covered the elder Dursley's face, and his skin was a mottled white and pink. He thrust his finger at Harry.
"Just what the bloody devil do you think you are doing out and about, Mister Potter," Vernon hissed, spittle flying at Harry's name. The elder Dursley massaged his arm as he launched into a verbal tirade. "You are not to be wandering around the neighborhood, Potter, especially while you've got that great honking bruise, is that understood? I thought that I had made myself quite clear that you were restricted to the house and grounds except when visiting Mrs. Figg to keep those… freaks… away from us. The last thing I want is for people to notice you even more than is absolutely necessary. What about these rules do you not understand, you runty little… little… lit…le" Vernon's words trailed off as his face paled, the sweat pouring even faster from his brow. With a wheeze, the large man collapsed along the roadway, his eyes showing only white.
"UNCLE VERNON," Harry shouted, dropping to his knees as he shook the man. Vernon's lack of response frightened Harry as he frantically tried to figure out what had happened. Remembering Neville's actions in the Department of Mysteries, Harry reached for the bulging neck, trying to find a pulse. He was unable to find anything when he heard running footsteps approaching from behind him. He spun around to see Kingsley Shacklebolt approaching at a rapid pace. Harry felt an upsurge of relief at the sight of the experienced Auror. Kingsley slid to his knees as he reached Harry, his hands flying to unbutton Vernon's collar.
"Harry, I want you to run to the nearest house. Bang on the door, make as much of a row as you can, just get them to the door. Tell them your uncle has had a heart attack and to call for an ambulance. Quickly now!!" Kingsley began shoving his hands against Vernon's chest as Harry used every reserve of energy he had to race to the nearest house with a car in the drive.
He bolted up the sidewalk and began pounding rapidly on the door with both hands, cries and entreaties adding to the din. Through the small window, he could barely make out the shape of someone approaching.
"Here now, what the devil is all the racket about, young man? GOOD LORD!" an elderly gentleman asked, his thinning white hair sticking out in several directions. The man was wearing a bathrobe, slippers and was, for some reason, carrying a blue afghan, but Harry's nervousness simply overrode any shame at having awakened the man.
"Please sir, it's my uncle sir. He's had a heart attack out by the thoroughfare. There's someone with him now trying to help, but we need an ambulance and quickly. PLEASE!" Harry spouted out in one breath, his fear of losing someone else, even if it was the abusive Vernon Dursley, overriding his limited self-control. The man's face darkened until he quickly spun on his heel and moved purposefully toward the telephone resting on a small table not far from the door.
"Hello, operator. This is Linus Schultz of 12 Rockwell Place, Little Whinging. We need an ambulance immediately. I've got a young man here whose uncle has had a heart attack out on the main road near my place… No, he says a passing gentleman is with the man attempting CPR right now… Right. Thank you," he said, hanging up the phone as he turned to Harry. "They're on their way, son. Do you have someone you need to contact?"
"Yes, my Aunt Petunia. She'll want to be with him." Mr. Schultz handed the receiver to Harry and moved away to give the young man some privacy. Harry nervously dialed the number for the Dursley's, trying to come up with a way to break it to Petunia gently. His musings were cut short as a tinny high pitched voice sounded on the other end of the connection.
"Hello, Dursley residence. Petunia Dursley speaking."
"Aunt Petunia, it is Harry."
"Where the blazes are you boy? Your uncle has already left for work, and he was quite livid when we found you missing."
"Um, yeah I know. He saw me while I was on my run and pulled over to tell me to get back home when he.... Aunt Petunia, he had a heart attack."
Silence on the other end of the line was his only answer. Outside, Harry heard the faint sounds of the fast approaching ambulance. His aunt finally replied in a hoarse whisper, "Is he alright?"
"One of the people passing by knew CPR and they got to him almost immediately. I hear the ambulance; it's not to far away. We're on Rockwell Place, about two and a half blocks south of Privet. I'll try to stall the ambulance until you get here."
The sound of a dial tone was all Harry heard in response. He quietly handed the phone back to Mr. Schultz and walked back to the door. He turned and regarded the disheveled old man. "Thank you sir for allowing me to contact Aunt Petunia. I know it will mean a lot to her." The old man allowed a thin smile, his gaze flicking to the scar on Harry's forehead. Harry felt his blood freeze at the familiar motion, uncommon here in Little Whinging but commonplace in the wizarding world.
"I'm only glad to help, Mr. Potter. Go now and see to your Uncle. You've got an ambulance to delay, although I do wonder at what transpired to give you that, ehem, shiner."
"My cousin...boxing practice…You-you're a…"
"Ah, I see. As to the last, yes and no, Mr. Potter. I was once, but I gave it up. I needed peace and quiet more than I needed magic." The man opened the door for Harry and gently shoved him through to the walk outside. "I think the medics are rounding the lane about now."
Harry nodded in shock and, with a final wave, took off back toward Kingsley and his uncle. A small crowd had gathered, watching morbidly as Kingsley continued to monitor Vernon. The elder Dursley was flat on his back, a small pool of vomit near his head. Harry began shoving past the people in his way just as he heard his aunt screeching Vernon's name.
The hawkish features of Petunia burst through the crowd just as Harry reached his uncle. The two of them dropped to their knees as the sound of the approaching ambulance reached them. Petunia clutched at Vernon, tears pouring from her face as she wailed loudly. Dudley came up behind her and dropped to the ground as well, shock and fear writ large across his rapidly palling features.
"Don't worry, ma'am. I've gotten him as stabilized as is humanly possible. He's unconscious, but he is breathing and his pulse is regular, if a little weak," Kingsley stated, his dark features calm. Harry felt extreme gratitude that the auror had been on duty this morning. He caught the gaze of the older wizard and saw the relief and understanding in Kingsley's eyes suddenly turn questioning at Harry's appearance. Harry shook his head and flashed a smile, letting Kingsley know he was fine.
The ambulance pulled to a swift halt and two paramedics rushed a gurney toward the small crowd. The small huddle parted to allow passage, and the pair quickly began checking his vitals. The unworried looks on their faces brought on a new wave of tears from Petunia while Dudley simply sat back on his haunches, color finally making its way back to his face. The medics strapped Vernon down and began to wheel him toward the ambulance, Petunia following closely. Dudley and Harry stood together watching the scene, until Petunia turned back to them.
"Dudley, you and Harry take the car back to the house. I'll give a ring when I know more about your father's condition, and whether you should come to pick me up or no. I'll call Grunnings to let them know about the accident. Harry," she turned to face the worried boy. "Thank you. I'm sure Vernon's temper was the cause of this, but you acted quickly to get help. We'll talk later." With that, Petunia turned and was assisted by one of the medics into the back of the vehicle to stand vigil over her husband. The other medic slammed the doors closed, jumped into the driver's seat, and the ambulance tore off toward the nearby hospital.
Harry and Dudley stood watching the departing ambulance until long after it had disappeared from view. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Dudley's shoulders slump. He reached a hand out and placed it on the older boy's shoulder in uncomfortable compassion. Dudley turned quickly and strode to the car, its engine still idling. Harry lowered his head, guilt over Vernon's condition pressing in on him. He walked sedately to the passenger side of the car and climbed in without a word to his cousin. Dudley slowly pulled out and turned at the intersection, wending his way back home.
The car pulled into the driveway of the empty house, but the two boys discovered that there were visitors sitting on the front porch playing cards. Hermione and Ron looked up from the Muggle game of Egyptian Slam that they were playing: Ron was losing, judging by the tiny pile of cards he held. The two teens on the porch broke into huge grins at seeing Harry until they saw the looks on the cousins' faces.
"What's happened, Harry?" Hermione asked as she jumped up and rushed to the young man, the cards she held scattering on the lawn. Harry could feel the pain and guilt over this latest occurrence covering his face. He watched his cousin carefully avoid the flame-haired youth still sitting on the porch, no doubt remembering Fred and George. Harry waited till the door had latched before motioning Ron over.
"Uncle Vernon had a heart attack while he was yelling at me earlier. He caught me while I was out on my run and just exploded at me. Toward the end he…he just dropped. Lucky thing that Kingsley was on watch duty. He knows CPR and took care of him while I went to ring for an ambulance. They took him to the hospital; thought it was a heart attack" Hermione covered her mouth in horror at this, while Ron simply looked as if he had bitten into the wrong Every-Flavor Bean.
"This is definitely going to put a cramp in our plans, isn't it?"
Hermione rounded on Ron, violence flashing from her eyes. "Ronald Weasley! I can't believe you would say something so callous! Harry's uncle is very ill, he could have died, and all you can think about is how this will affect our stay? I was wrong about you, Ronald. Saying you have the emotional range of a teaspoon is an insult to spoons EVERYWHERE!" Harry could swear that her hand started to reach for her wand. Ron must have noticed as well for his eyes suddenly grew to the size of dinner plates, and he began backing away slowly, trying to prevent an incident.
"Hermione, look, I just meant that the Muggle," the flash of danger from Hermione's eyes made him backtrack further, "VERNON, I mean Vernon, might try to get rid of Harry after this."
"Ron, Hermione, please. Don't start this right now. Besides, Kingsley said that he had Uncle Vernon stabilized when the ambulance came, and the medics didn't look as if anything was too serious. Whatever danger he would have been in is probably over. Besides," he muttered darkly, "There's not much he can do to me that hasn't been done before." Hermione's angered countenance had slowly begun to grow more worried until it seemed she was going to cry as Harry made his last statement.
"Oh, Harry," she cried as she threw her arms around Harry, who noted that she was at least a half foot shorter as her hair was trying to actively smother him. "I knew that it was bad from some of the things I've heard, but that…that is horrid!" Harry patted her back anxiously, looking at Ron in desperation as he tried to calm the upset girl.
"Hermione, I'm fine, okay? I'm…I'm no different with you knowing this than I was yesterday. It's part of my life, like Voldemort trying to kill me or Snape taking points because he's a git. It's…who I am." Hermione backed away suddenly, her eyes shining with unshed tears while Ron looked at him with what Harry angrily realized was pity. "Oh, no. Don't even start. This is not a pity-poor-Harry thing, so don't even start with it. I'm only saying that this stuff is a part of my life that I've accepted. I do not enjoy it, nor do I intend to allow it to continue once I turn of age. But for the next two weeks, it IS an uncomfortable truth in my life that you will have to deal with! You will hear them yell, and you will see them punish me, and you won't do a Bloody thing about it! My time here is almost over, and trying to stand up for me against them will only make this whole stay worse. So don't even THINK about interfering, OKAY?!"
Hermione's tears flowed freely now as Harry realized that he had begun yelling at them midway through his rant. His anger slowly began to melt at the looks he was getting from his friends. "I'm sorry for yelling okay? It's just…Today has been an absolute bollux from the get go, and this thing with Uncle Vernon has me in a right state. I didn't mean to yell, but I did mean what I said. The fewer waves we make, the easier things will be here. Just…just promise that you won't say anything, or do anything, unless it's serious."
Ron nodded to Harry, discomfort at Harry's outburst writ large on his face. Hermione, however, looked ready to argue. Harry stepped to her and grasped her by the shoulders, gently but firmly. "Hermione, I know that for some Merlin-only-knows reason, you think you have to protect me. You don't. You just have to be here to support me as you've almost always done." His voice lowered until he was whispering, "You are the one person living that I know I can count on to back me up come what may, last year notwithstanding. But it isn't that time yet. I just need you to be strong these two weeks and then you can hover over me all you want." She sniffed as she looked in his eyes, and he realized, a feeling in his gut causing a mild twinge of discomfort, that her eyes seemed almost the same dark brown color as his Firebolt. After a moment that seemed to last much too long to Harry, she dropped her head in submission.
"Alright then, Harry. I won't make this any worse than I imagine it's bound to be. But if I think they're going too far, I will hex them back to the Stone Age," Hermione stated, defiance burning in her eyes. Harry smiled as he let go of her, knowing that was as good as he was going to get from the witch. He looked between the two of them.
"Come on, we'll go to my room until Aunt Petunia calls."
**************************
Petunia called almost four hours later, the news hopeful. Vernon's attack was more due to his recent excessive weight gain, according to the doctor, than a display of temper. The outburst hadn't helped, he had said, but the attack would have happened anyway.
"Vernon is in surgery right now; they thought a bypass would be the most helpful thing at the moment. You don't need to have Dudley come immediately, but your Uncle should be awake around 5 o'clock or so."
"Thank you, Aunt Petunia. I'll make sure Dudley gets the message as soon as I see him. We'll see you at suppertime then," Harry said.
"Oh, and Harry?"
"Yes Aunt Petunia."
"Thank you again." A click and dial tone filled Harry's ears as he felt a small part of the weight on his shoulders leave. He carefully replaced the receiver and trotted up the stairs to his room. They had passed the time reading and joking, trying to keep the talk light and away from topics that were too depressing. Hermione looked up from Dark Magic for Dark Purposes as he opened the door, although Ron continued slowly flipping through Harry's copy of Quidditch Through the Ages.
"He's in surgery now. Something about a bypass. At any rate, he'll be awake by supper tonight and Aunt Petunia wants Dudley there, so I think I'll go with him."
Ron looked up from the book in amazement. "Wait just a tick. You're willingly going to spend time with these people, one of whom is more than likely completely incensed at you? You aren't getting a bit daft in your advancing years, are you?" Harry rolled his eyes and took a breath before responding.
"No Ron, I'm just as sane as I've always been <Don't give me that look>, and yes, I do plan on spending time with my family. Even if they have been right bastards towards me in the past, two of the three have been trying, trying mind you, to at least be civil towards me, if not outright helpful. So when Dudley gets back, we're going to go see Uncle Vernon in the hospital, so you guys can just hang out tonight. I think there are some good movies playing at the cinema, if what Dudley said is true," Harry replied, ignoring the clench in his chest. "You two should have some fun, do things. You know, before that whole risking-our-lives-to-save-the-world thing takes over." Ron looked hopefully, yet somewhat nervously, over to Hermione, who simply put the book aside and pulled the newspaper over, flipping the pages until she found the cinema listing.
"There is a movie playing that my parents said was fairly good. What do you think Ron?" Ron's face had turned a brilliant shade of red, easily matching his hair. He sputtered for a moment before nodding. Harry suppressed the desire to chuckle at his friend's nervousness. Hermione, however, had rested her hand on Ron's knee and nudged him with her shoulder, a soft laugh as she whispered to him the only thing Harry could hear. Ron broadly returned Hermione's smile, his coloring slowly returning to normal.
"Okay, okay you two. Let's keep the snogging to a minimum while Harry's in the room, alright," Harry teased, fighting to hold back laughter as his friends jumped apart, their faces flushing brightly. Harry shook his head at them in amusement as Hermione stuck out her tongue at him before he picked up Battling the Darkness again. He thought he saw Hermione smile out of the corner of his eye, but he pushed that from his mind and started to read again.
The first thing one must understand when fighting evil is to understand the motivations that drive the one you hunt. Are they seeking to redress a perceived wrong, or are they attempting to build a power base that will shore them against traumas from the past. This knowledge will help to determine an enemy's responses to your own attacks. Be sure to plan for this when formulating your offensive.
As an example, I present the case of Firelle Yardigan, a Dark wizard I had the task of combating late in my career, who was born in 1885 in a small town to the south of Belfast and rose to prominence barely thirty years later. Mr. Yardigan was the child of a Protestant minister and his wife, both Muggle. Yardigan was sorted into Hufflepuff on his entry to Hogwarts, and was well known among the staff for his stubborn refusal to acquiesce to failure. His days at Hogwarts ended abruptly in his sixth year, when he received word that his parents had been killed during a skirmish in the city, presumably by a gang of Catholic supporters.
Unfortunately, Yardigan devoted himself to ridding North Ireland of the "Papal Menace" as he called them. He immediately dropped out of Hogwarts and immersed himself in Dark Magick, purportedly to slaughter those he blamed for his parents' deaths. Thirteen years later, he led a group of young wizards and Muggles in vicious attacks against Catholic neighborhoods and families. The team of Hunters that captured him, in which I was included, lured him to an abandoned church on the pretext that there was a gathering of Catholic leaders meeting to discuss methods of stopping the attacks. He was disarmed during the duel, allowing his capture and eventual life-imprisonment in Azkaban.
How were we able to defeat him? We played to both his ego and his desire for revenge. We knew that his desire to wipe out Catholicism in North Ireland was as virulent as the plague, and that a meeting of those who led the movement would be far too tempting a target for him to pass up. We also surmised that, by the time of the attack, his victories would have instilled in him a sense of immortality, that he could not be defeated. These factors combined made the target irresistible, even when common sense would suggest that it was a trap.
Second lesson: Those who allow themselves to descend into darkness cannot or do not allow themselves to believe in their own vulnerability.
Harry shut the book quickly as he heard the door downstairs slam and the pounding of his
cousin's footsteps echoed up the stairwell. He started to move toward the door when the latch opened and the door pushed in. Short cropped hair preceded his cousin's face into the small opening.
"Any news?"
Harry gave his cousin a smile. "Good news, at least. Uncle Vernon is in surgery right now for a heart bypass, but the doctors think that he'll be fine. He'll be out of surgery and might be awake by 5 tonight. Aunt Petunia wants us out for dinner."
"Us?" Dudley asked, his eyebrow cocked in curiosity. Harry shrugged abashedly.
"She didn't mention me, but I want to be there. Vernon is family. And with what's coming," Harry suppressed a shudder, "Family and friends are more important than ever."
Dudley nodded before shutting the door. Harry looked over to his friends, who were both looking at him strangely. Ron shook his head before tossing aside the Quidditch book. "Things are only going to get worse for us, aren't they," he asked, his features twisted into a grimace.
"Oh Ron, you know that what we're going to do is extremely dangerous. How could you have imagined that it would be otherwise," Hermione stated, a mixture of exasperation and hurt in her eyes.
"Well, I'm sorry. Yes, I knew it would be bad, I just didn't…didn't want to acknowledge it. Acknowledging it would make this whole thing seem too real. The chances of us dying would be too real."
Hearing Ron talking in such a defeatist way sent a paroxysm of anger and fear through Harry. He stood abruptly and moved to look out the window. The afternoon sun still rode high in the sky, and a few of the more adventurous children were playing in the sprinklers a few doors down. Such a scene of tranquil bliss almost seemed indifferent to the enormity of the conversation occurring in the small bedroom of Number 4. Silently, he reaffirmed his decision to leave his friends behind following the wedding. `This war has already been too costly for us. I-I can't do this if they're going to be in danger. I can't be worried about them when I face Voldemort.'
"You don't have to worry about us Harry. Just let us watch after you, like always." Harry's head snapped around so fast to stare at Hermione that he felt a moment of lightheadedness. To his relief, the look in Hermione's eyes was not the one of censure he had expected if he had said his thoughts out loud. Instead, her eyes were warm and inviting, making him feel like he was finally…
Harry shook his head violently, trying to banish those thoughts. `I don't know where this is bloody coming from, but this is not the time to get sentimental. I must be overreacting to the threat of Voldemort, looking for comfort…or something.' It did disturb him, though, how well she was able to read his feelings so easily. He sighed before replying, "Sorry, just…got a bit fuzzy in my head for a moment. Too many things to think about, plans and such." His friends smiled before Ron's stomach loudly complained about the lack of eating.
"Well, I do believe it's lunchtime, wouldn't you all agree," Ron asked with a chuckle. Hermione just rolled her eyes before marking her place in her book and moving for the door. Harry had already gotten there and opened it, motioning for them to go ahead.
"I'll meet you guys in the kitchen. I'll see if Dudley wants anything." The two headed for the stair, taking hands surreptitiously. Harry allowed a smile to show for a moment before wiping it away and heading down the hall to his cousin's larger room. He knocked gently but on receiving no answer, he opened the door a crack. Dudley was lying on his back on the bed, arm over his face. Harry cleared his voice gently before speaking softly. "Ah, Dudley, we're going to fix up some lunch, and I, uh, just wanted to know if you wanted anything."
Dudley didn't move his arm from his face, but replied, "No, not really hungry right now. You understand. Maybe at supper." Harry nodded sadly, remembering the first few days following the death of Sirius, when it seemed as if his world had imploded and how the thought of eating was furthest from his mind. He gave his cousin a sympathetic look and quietly shut the door. He found the others in the kitchen already making sandwiches, a stack of four resting on a plate on the counter. The scene of almost normalcy was enough to make him forget his worries for the time being. Harry leaned against the door frame, feeling a wince of pain from the bruise on his face, just watching his friends for a moment. Hermione and Ron laughed and joked while they worked; Ron putting the meat and cheese on the bread while Hermione slapped on condiments before putting the sandwiches on a plate. Harry coughed loudly as the stack seemed to want to topple since the two had apparently stopped paying attention to the number of sandwiches they were making some time ago.
"Oh! Harry, come and help us," Hermione said as she laughed at the sound of Ron's stomach growling.
"I think you two have made more than enough sandwiches to fill that monster. I think there's even enough there for you two tomorrow."
"Hey mate. Where's the other?" Ron asked, his hand creeping out to grab some food. Hermione struck him with the spoon she was holding, rapping his knuckles solidly. Ron shot a dirty look at her, the effect of which was ruined when he started laughing. Harry shook his head at his friends.
"Dudley's…not feeling very well. You know." Ron nodded morosely, remembering his own experience of hearing that his father might die. The redhead looked up, almost as if trying to find Dudley and shook his head sadly. Hermione took the opportunity provided by the interruption to set the plates on the table, along with a jug of milk and a pitcher of water. Harry sat in his usual chair as the others chose chairs of their own.
"I was ever so glad to hear your uncle was doing well, Harry. I remember when my Granddad passed; I was miserable for a week. He's the one who got me so interested in reading." Harry and Ron shared a look over the table.
"Where's he buried?" the raven-haired teen asked.
"Why?" she asked suspiciously.
"I just want to know where to send a whole busload of flowers in thanks. If he's responsible for having you reading as much as you do, he's indirectly saved the world, not to mention my life, a few times over." Hermione blushed as Harry smiled, and shook her head with a quick laugh.
"He was indirectly saving the world before Mum was even born, Harry. He was in the RAF during the Second War. He was an ace, that's a pilot that had shot down five or more enemy planes, stationed near Dover . He shot down a few bombers before they made it across the Channel," she sighed, "He always spoke of his squadmates so fondly, telling all sorts of funny stories as well as the stories of the raids and attacks. But he always made sure to mention how, when he was up there flying in all kinds of weather, all he thought about when he saw the fighters and bombers coming closer was the pictures in the papers of the Blitz, the ruins and people looking so scared." Hermione picked a peanut butter sandwich from the pile and took a bite. After swallowing, she continued, her eyes looking out the window, "I wonder what he'd say if he were still here, if he found out his granddaughter was fighting on the front lines of a war all her own. A war just as bad, just as dangerous, against an enemy just as evil as the one he fought."
Harry reached out and grabbed his own sandwich, his brow creasing as he tried to figure out how to say what he felt. "I think, no, I know, that he would look at you and be so very proud. He fought because he wanted to stop those people in the papers from hurting, from living in fear. And you're doing the same. I think he'd be proud that a part of himself was still around. Just as proud as we are of you." Hermione smiled as she poured out drinks for the two boys. Ron nodded his head, his sandwich already half eaten.
"Dasrite, Hermiye. `E cunant dovis witouchu," he mumbled, his mouth full of bologna and cheese. Hermione screwed up her face as bits of food flew across the table towards her. She quickly put her hand over her plate in an attempt to block the flying debris of Ron's carnage.
"Ron, how many times have I asked you to swallow before you try to talk?"
Ron swallowed with a loud gulp before replying cheekily, "Three hundred and forty-eight. Not to mention the two hundred and twenty-seven times you've told me to chew with my mouth closed and the one hundred and ninety-six times you've asked me not to eat so fast." Hermione sat there with her mouth hanging open while Harry snorted the milk he had been drinking right out of his nose. The three friends broke out in peals of laughter as Harry tried to wipe up the mess he had made. The three sobered quickly as Dudley walked into the kitchen. He went to the cooler, grabbed a bottled water, and left without much more than a quick glance at the table. Harry felt the atmosphere darken and hang heavy in the kitchen.
Desperate to lighten the mood, he said, "So, when are we going to get our apparition licenses? And where do we go to do it? I'm not really looking forward to having to go to the Ministry for anything."
Ron smiled and with a pointed look to Hermione, swallowed the last of his sandwich before replying, "Don't worry about that. Different areas of Britain have places set aside for the tests. After all, you can't have a bunch of kids testing for their apparition license inside of the Ministry lobby, now can you."
"The testing location for any students located in the south of Britain is in Diagon Alley. They have to use locations that are exclusive to wizards, otherwise Muggles might notice something they shouldn't," Hermione explained.
"Yeah, like a leg or a couple of people that got splinched together, you know?" Ron shivered as he rubbed his eyebrow.
"Okay, so I'm guessing that we're going to go on my birthday, or do you want to get it now?" he asked, looking over at Ron.
"Personally, Harry, I'd rather go with you. It helps to have someone there."
"Then why didn't you get it right when I was there," Hermione asked indignantly.
"Are you bloody kidding? You make me more nervous when it comes to tests. Sometimes I swear you're going to hex me if I don't do well."
"That's not so, I just want you to do your best is all. Besides which, trying to get you to do your own work is like trying to get Harry to follow the rules," she said with a knowing look to Harry.
"Whoa, hey. Don't be pulling me into this, Hermione. I just want to eat my lunch and then see if I can find a bruise-removing potion in one of my books."
"Hey, you could always owl Fred and George for some. They had that batch for Hermione when she got popped last summer, remember?"
"True, I could, but doing it myself feels like thumbing my nose at the Ministry, even if it is only a little bit. Got to do my part in this war, right," Harry asked as he wiggled his eyebrows. Ron laughed while Hermione returned his gaze with an uncompromising glare. Harry shrugged and grabbed another sandwich before standing and heading for the stairs. He heard his friends once again start arguing, this time far different than the times before as the teasing seemed much more good natured. He knew that he should be glad that his friends were getting along so famously, but for some reason he felt as if a Devil's Snare had him by the chest.
****************************
Ron and Hermione joined him as he was putting the finishing touches on the bruise healing paste he had found in his Potions book, Year 4. The color was fairly close to what the book described, so Harry waited a few minutes for it to cool by asking about his friends' families. Ron spoke of how Molly had reacted when he told her about going to stay with Harry after a few days; she had almost gone mental, ranting about the amount of work to be done before the wedding. Bill had stopped her though, telling her that he knew Ron wouldn't leave unless Harry needed him. Molly had stopped her rant at that and had practically crushed her youngest boy in a hug.
Hermione had fared somewhat worse, as her parents didn't know what was going on, nor did they approve of her going to stay with a boy for several days. She had tried to explain without revealing too much, but they had been livid.
"So why did you come then, Hermione? I don't want to be the cause of difficulties between you and your parents."
"Oh Harry. They haven't been happy with me for some time. I've cut the last few summers extremely short with them and gone to stay at the Burrow or headquarters. They just don't understand why I had to do this."
"Then maybe you should tell them. I don't want your last conversation with your parents to be an angry one," Harry whispered, then suddenly realized how that sounded as Hermione's eyes grew wider. "No, wait, that's not what I meant. I just meant how I thought you shouldn't go off with us and have that be your most recent memory. We'll stop off after we leave here and explain everything."
Hermione looked at Harry sadly, before dropping her gaze to her hands. "Harry, I…I've not told them anything. As far as I'm aware, they have no knowledge of what's going on with Voldemort, or the Order, or even that mess with Sirius in Third Year. The only thing I've told them after the whole Philosopher's Stone incident is that I was sick in Second Year, which was why I was unable to attend a month's worth of classes."
"You haven't told them anything?" Harry looked at Hermione incredulously as Ron could only sit on the small bed, his mouth hanging open.
"Just about classes and Quidditch and such. Mundane things. How could I tell them anything else, Harry? So many people are keeping their children home because of what's happening, how could I ever think to tell them the whole truth? You need me at Hogwarts, both of you, and…and I need you too. I'd go completely spare with worry if my parents forced me to stay home." Her eyes shone with tears as she wrung the bedspread in her hands.
Harry didn't know what to say. His best friend sat there crying while Ron wrapped her in his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder while he remained frozen with a look of both empathy and unease. Even now, Ron was no good with crying females.
Harry turned away, his discomfort radiating off him, and grabbed the small jar of paste that had finally cooled. He peeled of his glasses and dug his cupped fingers into the jar. The feel of the thick yellow paste reminded him of the gillyweed he had eaten in fourth year. He shuddered at the thought as he spread the paste over his eye, looking in the mirror to ensure he covered it properly. He turned back to find Hermione sniffling and blowing her nose.
"How long did this stuff take to work on you, Hermione?" Harry asked. Ron looked over and snorted loudly before collapsing into guffaws.
"Oh, Harry. You didn't need to put it on so thickly. Just two fingers worth did the job in minutes for me," Hermione stated briskly, her smile breaking through her tears. Harry looked back into the mirror only to see what could only be considered a goopy yellow mask covering the left side of his face.
"I look like some sort of absolutely barmy superhero, don't I."
"Brilliant idea, Harry. We'll see if Madam Malkin can make you a special set of tights, some really bright ones to go with the mask. The Death Eaters are sure to give up then," Ron laughed out jovially. Harry chuckled for a moment before suddenly seeing a mental image of himself in brightly colored tights facing down a band of laughing Death Eaters.
"Well, they wouldn't be able to concentrate on their spellcasting, now would they? They'd all be laughing too hard."
"Are you two actually having this conversation, or did I eat something very disagreeable," Hermione asked, looking at the two boys as if they had truly gone insane. The two boys broke down in gales of laughter again, and Harry wiped a large amount of the paste off his face and placed it back in the jar. After sealing and labeling it, he tossed it onto a pile of shirts near the end of his bed. Hermione sighed and placed the small jar in his school trunk.
"Seriously though, Harry, we need to…Wait a tick. What's that?" Hermione pointed to the envelope resting at the back of Harry's desk, where it had been obscured by the cauldron until Harry had moved the instrument to make his potion. Dumbledore's familiar script decorated the cover of the envelope, with the address listed bringing back memories to Harry's mind; memories of his days just prior to Hogwarts. He reached over and plucked up the envelope, turning it over in his hands as he looked at the writing he knew he might never see again.
Harry James Potter
The Smallest Bedroom
Number 4, Privet Drive
Little Whinging, Surrey
He was startled as Hermione reached across Ron for the envelope. He shook his head slightly and broke the small wax seal bearing the Hogwarts crest. "I - I think Dumbledore knew that he didn't have a lot of time. When I got here, Aunt Petunia was waiting for me with this envelope. I just didn't have the heart to open it…alone." He slowly extracted the folded parchment and leaned forward, knees on his elbows as he prepared himself for Dumbledore's last words.
Dear Harry,
If you have received this letter from your Aunt Petunia, I have begun my last great adventure. I wish that I could stand by you for the entirety of what is to come, but no man is immortal, not even myself. I have lived a long time, far longer than some, not as long as some others, and am looking forward to finally being able to relax. My one regret is that I had to leave you so suddenly, as I'm somehow sure is the case.
It is futile, as I have learned in my years, to exist too deeply within the past. Like the mirror you found, Harry, dwelling on what is not, or what has past will only cause one to forget to live today. Live in today, Harry. You have enough to deal with; do not forget to enjoy every moment you are alive. Many think me a bit touched that I would enjoy simple things like candies, but the truth is that those sherbet lemon I would offer were a simple pleasure that I wished to enjoy while I still had the time to do so. Enjoy what life has to offer without regret, so that you might face what comes and be the stronger for it.
I have given you some ideas to pursue in finding a way to defeat Voldemort. I know that Miss Granger and Mister Weasley will assist you in deciphering what we were unable to find. Utilize that knowledge well, Harry, and remember to listen closely to your friends, even when you do not agree with them. Remember that it is your heart that will give you the tools to defeat Voldemort.
If words could only express my joy at watching the young boy who was so utterly entranced by this new world to which he had been so suddenly introduced grow to be the strong, brave, though somewhat stubborn man it has been my pleasure to pass the time with over the course of the last year. You are a great wizard, Harry James Potter, but you are, more importantly, an amazing young man.
I leave you now with these last words, Harry. In the words of a wonderful group of Muggle singers, "All you need is love"
With greatest affection
Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
PS. You might find it interesting to know that I have become quite fond of the Weasley brothers' Ton Tongue Toffees. And remember, a school is always open to those that have the keys.
Harry stared at the parchment, his heart aching, while a growing confusion spread through him. He had expected more from this letter, other clues, perhaps even all the explanations that Dumbledore had never given him. Instead, he had ended the letter as he had the notes throughout the year, as if he was giving out a password. He noticed Hermione fidgeting nervously on the end of the bed, her eyes almost locked on the paper clutched in his hand. He had to fight back a grin as he held out the note and she snatched it from him with great eagerness. Her eyes quickly skimmed the page, taking in Dumbledore's final words until she locked eyes with Harry, the confusion in her eyes easily matching the confusion he himself felt.
"Huh. He must have known he wasn't long in going, not after what happened to his hand. What do you think this last part means? He giving you another password?" Ron said after grabbing the letter from her and reading it as well.
"Dunno. It's written the same, but why would we need a password? I'm not going back to school, even if it does open," Harry whispered, his eyes straying to the window again. Hermione stood and began pacing the short distance in Harry's room. She stopped suddenly and grabbed the letter back from Ron and re-read it. She looked up from the letter and looked at Harry with a smile.
"Of course, why didn't I think of it before! Dumbledore wants to talk to you Harry. But how do we get in? Hagrid! Of course. He's groundskeeper, and the Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts! Hagrid could let us into the castle, and we could talk to Professor Dumbledore's portrait. He wouldn't trust information about the Horcruxes or Voldemort to owl post, not with the Ministry checking everything." By this time, it seemed as though Hermione had forgotten that she was talking to the two boys. Ron and Harry shared a grin before Harry kipped the letter from Hermione's fingers, the older girl not even noticing.
"So, after we leave here and go to Godric's Hollow, we're back to Hogwarts?" Harry asked.
"No, I don't think so. We don't know what he wants to tell us. Besides, after Godric's Hollow, I think we should go to headquarters. It's the safest location we know of and we can try to recast the Fidelius charm." Harry's face started to screw up in distaste, but Hermione snapped, "Don't make that face Harry. We know it's unplottable; besides which, the library there had a large number of books on Dark Magic. At least it did. I don't know if Mrs. Weasley or Sirius might've tossed them."
"Why do you think we would need to recast the Fidelius charm, Hermione," Ron asked as he leaned back on the headboard.
"Well, the Secret Keeper is-is dead," she whispered, her eyes welling up again. She quickly dashed away the forming tears before she continued, "If the Secret Keeper is dead, the spell has no focal point for the magic to ensure the Secret is kept. Snape could easily tell Voldemort where Headquarters is now. We need to re-establish the protections as quickly as possible, or else Number Twelve will be overrun with Death Eaters."
Harry clenched his fists at the thought of Bellatrix and Narcissa Malfoy laughing at the foolishness of the Order while standing next to the Black family tapestry in the library. He began thinking of the last time he had been there and the joy Sirius had shown at having everyone over for Christmas. Sirius hadn't liked Grimmauld at all, but that was because of the life Sirius had known there. Harry's memories of the house were bittersweet but still held a good place within him, as his were connected to his Godfather. Suddenly an idea formed, an idea he was sure Hermione would not appreciate.
Hermione had continued talking about what they needed to do before the wedding, when suddenly Harry cried out, "KREACHER, I WISH TO SEE YOU IMMEDIATELY!" Ron jumped backwards, but as he was already leaning against the headboard, all he managed to accomplish was to give his head a good bash. The crack of apparition that accompanied the aging house-elf filled the room and Harry willfully ignored Hermione's stare of anger. Kreacher stood on the floor at Harry's feet, a look of disgust and loathing warring with the house-elf's desire to serve.
"What does the nasty little half-breed want with poor, poor Kreacher, forced to serve those unworthy of the House of Black?" the diminutive thing asked, his voice crossing from growl to hiss as he spoke. The look that he gave to Ron, who was massaging the back of his head, and Hermione, who was looking positively scandalized, was one of blatant menace and ill will.
Harry stood up, allowing the image of the "Chosen One" to fill his mind and said in a carefully controlled voice, "Listen here, you. You don't like me; that's fine. I don't like you either. In point of fact, your constant bigotry and loathsome behavior make me want to do nothing more than let you join your family on the wall of Number 12." Hermione gave a sharp gasp, but Harry ignored her, as Kreacher was starting to look at him with something almost approaching contempt. "But you are part of the gift my Godfather gave me, and I will not dishonor his memory by mistreating you. But from this moment onward, I will not hear of anymore talk of blood traitors, mudbloods, or half-breeds ever again. I and those who I consider to be my friends are to be treated at all times with the same respect and dignity you would give to your mistress, the Lady Black. Do I make myself clear?"
Kreacher's face twisted from one of contempt to horror. He began to gnash his teeth in anger, but Harry simply glared, trying to look at the elf as Snape once glared at him. Finally, Kreacher's shoulders slumped, as he said in a defeated voice, "Of course, young Master. Your Kreacher is only too glad to serve you and yours." He snapped off his last words, teeth gritted as if to try to prevent them from escaping his lips, but Harry knew he had won. Ron was looking at Harry with a broad grin, amazement filling his expression. Hermione, on the other hand, refused to look at Harry at all.
"Good, now that that's settled, I have a task for you. As you know, Number Twelve is now my property. However, there are some who know of its location that I consider to be my enemies and some whose loyalty I have some questions about. I want you to seal the house against all who would seek to visit, save myself, Miss Hermione Granger, and Mister Ronald Weasley. And Remus Lupin" He motioned to the two other occupants of the room as he said their names. Hermione's head whipped around, her hair fanning out behind her, as a look of comprehension suddenly burst forth. Harry allowed a small grin to pierce his façade before turning his attention back to the elf. "Do not answer the door, respond to Floo communications; in short, do not allow anyone contact with the house or its occupants without my explicit permission. Is that understood?"
"Yes, young Master," the elf ground out, hatred burning in his eyes. Harry smiled and sat down while Ron tried to hold in his laughter.
"Thank you very much, Kreacher. I am sure you will perform your duties with care and precision. Oh, and do try to tidy up the place while you're at it. It would be most appreciated. You may return to the house now." The house-elf bowed low to the ground, and with a pop, disappeared. Ron finally let loose the flood of laughter that he had managed to contain, and Harry breathed out a massive sigh of relief, slumping down in his chair. Hermione, meanwhile, was looking at Harry critically.
"Harry, that was…"
"Hermione, I know, I know," Harry interrupted, his expression one of tired acceptance. He took a deep breath and started ticking off a list on his fingers. "That was in complete and utter disregard to the principles that you're trying to establish with S.P.E.W. I should've offered him compensation for such a dangerous task. I've now locked the Order out of Headquarters without warning or explanation. I'm sorry, Hermione, but the idea was one I thought needed to be done quickly." Harry sighed.
Hermione looked somewhat put out before standing abruptly. She responded, "I was going to say, Harry Potter, that you had a brilliant idea. I didn't think of Kreacher being able to seal off the house like that. But since you are so quick to act, maybe you should look at the time and get your ass in gear!" Hermione's lips quivered as if she were trying not to burst into tears before she dashed out of the room. Harry heard her footsteps thunder quickly down the stairs, before the slam of the door announced her departure.
Ron looked at Harry with a sigh and a roll of his eyes before he bolted out of the room to follow her. Harry sighed and let his head drop back, his eyes gazing absently at the ceiling. Thoughts of Hermione and Ron flowed through his mind as he thought of Hermione's reaction.
"Bloody hell. She always yells about S.P.E.W. when it comes to house-elves. How was I supposed to know she thought it was a good idea." He looked at the clock on his desk and let out a muffled curse. He quickly slipped on his trainers and jogged down the hall to Dudley's room. He knocked on the door just as it opened. Dudley wordlessly brushed past Harry as he headed for the stairs. Harry followed, understanding his cousin's need for silence. The two had reached Vernon's car before Harry noticed that Dudley was carrying a small satchel. Harry looked at Dudley quizzically.
"Clothes for Mum. She's not going to want to leave Dad, at least not until he gets better."
"Right." Harry climbed into the passenger seat beside Dudley and quickly buckled in. Dudley looked over at Harry to check on him, turned to check behind the car, and swung his head back toward Harry in shock.
"Wha-What happened to that black eye you had?"
Harry allowed a small grin to cross his face as he looked behind the car as well. "Magic, Dudley. Just magic." Dudley let out a whistle as he shivered, his thoughts about such a handy ability obviously conflicting with his long standing fear of anything wizarding. "It's a potion. Just a thick paste that you put on the bruise, and in a few minutes, you're good as new. I whipped it up after lunch."
"Must be pretty advanced stuff," Dudley whispered in admiration.
"Fourth year." Dudley looked at Harry in shock as he began to back the car out of the drive. Harry just let a smile drift over his face as Dudley returned his attention to the road. Within moments, he was watching the streets of Little Whinging drift by.
They drove for five minutes before the signs began announcing their proximity to the hospital. As the digital clock on the dash switched to a quarter till, they pulled into the visitor's lot in the front of the hospital. Harry climbed out as his cousin retrieved the small satchel from the backseat. The two cousins made their way into the reception area and toward the information desk. A gray haired matron that reminded him vaguely of Professor McGonagall was sitting behind the partition. Her hair was drawn back in a bun, and the medical scrubs were covered by a pastel colored sweater. Harry was able to overhear her carrying on a conversation with someone on the phone.
"Yes sir, I understand that… No, I don't care how much you feel it might be important… Yes I do recognize the name, which is why I will not forward your call, sir. If you wish to talk to him, you will have to come here… My supervisor? Sir, I am the supervisor and I have given my final word on the matter. Good day." She slammed down the receiver and grumbled for a moment about bloodthirsty reporters, to which Harry had to disguise his laugh with a terrible cough. The nurse looked up at the two and pulled out a clipboard. "Fill these out and a doctor will see you about the cough shortly."
"Oh no, ma'am. We're here to see my uncle, Vernon Dursley. He was in surgery earlier. Do you know what room he's in?" Harry looked serenely at the woman, glad he wasn't at St Mungo's where people would recognize him. The elderly receptionist turned to her computer and began accessing the hospital's mainframe. Within a few moments she had pulled up the proper files.
"Heart by-pass, hmmm? My Frank has had three of those; still refuses to take care of himself. Ah well. Your uncle is in Room 423 in the South wing; the Recovery ward. He's probably still asleep; according to this, he only got out of surgery about twenty minutes ago." She turned back to the boys, peering at them over her enormous glasses.
"That's fine ma'am. My mother is here with him. She wanted us to bring her a change of clothes." Dudley hefted the bag into view. "Which hall do we take?"
"Take the right hand hallway until you come to the large statue at the intersection. Turn right and take the first set of lifts you come to," she recited, her hands waving through the air to match her directions. The two boys thanked her and began the trek to Vernon's room.
**********************
They had made two wrong turns and taken the lift to the Pediatrics ward before they finally found the Recovery ward. Harry was the first to spot 423 and the two maneuvered their way through the crowded hallway. Harry stood back as Dudley knocked softly on the door. Petunia's hawkish face thrust quickly through the opening as the door creaked open. After looking back into the room, the thin woman slid through the crack in the door and wrapped Dudley in a rib-crushing embrace. Harry was startled when he was suddenly pulled into one as well; the shock made the strength of the embrace seem more than it was, driving the air from his lungs.
"Thank you boys, for bringing my things. The doctors say that he'll pull through, but we'll have to change his diet, and that he'll need a bit of a vacation from work." Harry looked over at Dudley as an idea hit him.
"Aunt Petunia, do you mind if we head to the cafeteria? I just had a thought about … what Mr. Moody discussed yesterday." Petunia nodded before heading over to the nurses station. She returned with a small beeper.
"They'll page me if he wakes up, so we'll be okay to head downstairs."
*******************
Harry slid into the back corner booth of the cafeteria, the food not smelling nearly as good as the fare he was used to at Hogwarts, or even at Number 4. He quickly glanced around. The cafeteria had a decent number of people in it, most employees, but they seemed more likely to congregate near the front. The area surrounding their table was devoid of undesired listeners. Harry sat with his back to the wall so that he could keep an eye on anyone that might seem too interested in them. A flush rose on his cheeks as he realized he was starting to act a little too Moody-like. Dudley and Petunia sat across from him, Dudley quickly digging into his pasta while Petunia daintily picked at her salad. Harry buckled up his nerve and cleared his throat.
"I think you should leave the country," he stated, once he had the Dursley's attention.
"What?" Dudley asked, his eyes growing wide. Petunia merely looked quizzically at Harry.
"I'm serious. As soon as Uncle Vernon is out of here and up to going, take a cruise, tour Europe, do something, just don't do it in England."
"Does this have to do with… You-Know-Who and your coming of age" Petunia asked.
"Yes. If any of you are at Number 4 on my seventeenth birthday, Tom's…friends will likely visit and will most definitely not be friendly." Harry looked down into the plate of chicken and veggies he had grabbed.
"All well and good, but I don't think Dad is gonna go for it, Harry." Dudley pointed out, stabbing the air with his fork for emphasis.
"That's easily dealt with, Dudley. The doctor recommending a vacation gives us an opening. We just need to convince him to tell Vernon that getting far away from anything that might cause him stress will be good for him. And you know he's been quite jealous of the Williams' going to the Caribbean last summer during summer break."
Vernon's unspoken competition with Michael Williams in Number 8 was legendary on Privet drive, as the two had competed for years as to who could lead the most extraordinary average life. Vernon's rental of the cabin on the rock just before Harry's eleventh birthday had put Vernon ahead of the game for some time, even though he had never bothered to explain why to the neighbors.
Harry nodded. "It's settled then. Once he is able to travel, the Dursleys will take a vacation that will last until well after July 31. I'll take care of the expense, since I'm the one putting you at risk. What you do after you return, well, it'll be up to you. The Order can put you in hiding until the end of summer, or we can do something called the Fidelius."
"What's that?" Petunia asked in suspicion. Harry sighed as he tried to figure a way to explain it without directly mentioning magic.
"It's a protection based on a secret. One person is chosen as Secret Keeper, and unless that person willingly tells the secret, no one will know what is being hidden. So Vol-Riddle's crew could be standing right in front of your house, you inside, and they wouldn't know that you were there." Dudley and Petunia looked askance at each other.
"How do you know it works?" Petunia was looking down her nose at Harry.
"Our headquarters was, until recently, under the protection. Professor Dumbledore was the Secret Keeper…" Harry quieted as a man in medical scrubs sat a few tables away. He watched for a moment, but the man wasn't paying them any attention. He continued in a much quieter voice. "He was Secret Keeper, but Hermione thinks that since his death, the protection didn't have a focus, so it dissolved. A lot of the Dark crowd knows about the house we're in; some of them lived there before the war started back up, so the fact that no one had come round is a pretty good indicator that it works."
Dudley looked as though he was trying to get peanut butter off the roof of his mouth, his face was so twisted in trying to understand. He shook his head before asking, "So who would be this Secret whatsis?"
"Me, Ron or Hermione if you wanted. Even one of you three could do it, I guess. I'm really not up on the particulars of how it gets put in place; Hermione would know, I expect. But in any case, only the Keeper can reveal the secret, so depending on what's being kept, you wouldn't be able to share it unless one of you were Keeper." The two Dursleys looked at each other for a moment before tucking back into their food.
"We'll discuss it later Harry," Petunia whispered.
***************************
Five days later, Vernon was declared fit to leave the hospital. The day they brought him home, Vernon was more than ecstatic about the idea of a vacation. The thought of one-upping Williams was all that was needed to make him puff up like his old self. He accepted the idea of taking a long vacation following his recovery period, but Harry saw a disturbing gleam in his eyes when he found out where the money for the trip was coming from. A gleam he recognized from when Vernon had heard that Harry owned a house.
"So, the boy has quite the sum of money, does he? Well, well. That's very interesting, isn't it Petunia?" Petunia Dursley simply sat on the couch of Number 4, her eyes not meeting Vernon's. Luckily, Vernon's attention was completely on Harry, who could only squirm under the uncompromising gaze of his uncle. Dudley was leaning against the doorjamb, hands jabbed deep in his pockets, face reddening as his father chuckled.
Harry could understand his cousin's discomfort. Vernon was starting to act like the old Dudley right before he would beat up some kid for his money. Hermione and Ron flanked Harry's chair in support of the young man. Hermione knelt beside him, hand on his arm while Ron stood tall, his face holding a neutral expression, hand on the chair back.
"I don't see how it could be interesting to you, Mr. Dursley. The funds Harry has are only good in our world," Hermione stated, her eyes narrowing. "He'll have to deal with Gringotts to exchange Galleons for pounds, and only he is capable of doing so in the amounts you will need for this trip."
"You forget, girl, that I am Harry's guardian. As such, I have a right to access any trusts or funds left to him in order to see to…his needs."
"Only in the eyes of the Muggle government. In the case of our world, Harry's money is held in static trust until he comes of age, minus the expenses he needs for school and such. That only the owner of the vault, or a trusted representative, can withdraw funds is a part of the charter for the bank that the goblins insisted upon." Vernon began turning red again and Harry placed a hand on her arm. He watched as Petunia quickly whispered in Vernon's ear, trying to calm the man down. Vernon's color returned to the pasty pink of someone who hadn't spent much time near sunlight and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
"Why do you want to know about my money, Uncle Vernon?"
"Just… Just want to ensure that everything is invested properly," Vernon replied, a smile on his face that reminded Harry far too much of Pettigrew when he was trying to bluff his way from the Shrieking Shack. Harry clenched his fist as he tried to control his anger. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw one of the picture frames start to rattle. Dudley, however, stormed from the room, his footsteps as he descended to the basement echoing through the house.
"Hmm, must be time for his afternoon workout," Vernon laughed nervously as he looked over to Petunia, whom he noticed for the first time not looking his way. He huffed in irritation and looked back at Harry. "Very well then. But no sticking us in some rundown fleabag of a motel, you hear?"
"Of course not, Uncle Vernon. I know better than to make people live in a broom closet," Harry snapped, his irritation at Vernon quickly escalating. The elder Dursley simply looked annoyed, but Petunia was looking more and more upset. Harry felt a wave of shame wash over him. "That was uncalled for. I apologize. But I promise that I will ensure that you receive a decent vacation, Uncle Vernon. There is still the matter of your return."
"We will go under the protection of your Order, Harry. And the Fi-Fid," Petunia stammered, ignoring Vernon's questioning look.
"Fidelius protection."
"Yes. Is it possible to do both?"
Harry looked to Hermione. She smiled as she replied, "Actually, that would make the protections of the Fidelius much easier to conceal. If you are at another location, people would think you were still out of the country around here, and wouldn't wonder why you weren't around."
Harry barely heard Vernon beginning to mumble about "bloody wizards" and "unnatural" before he was seized with a blinding pain. His hand automatically slapped against the scar on his forehead, yet he was distantly aware of Hermione and Ron crying his name in fear. He felt a wave of darkness wash over him, as a cold, sibilant voice whispered in his ear.
"You are mine, boy. Soon, I shall have what I want. You. Kneeling before me."
Harry sucked in a ragged breath as the contact was broken. He looked up to see Hermione's eyes filled with fear for him. Ron hovered right behind her, his expression grim.
"What was it, mate?"
"The git just wanted to remind me that he was coming. That he was going to enjoy it when I kneel in his presence before he offs me." Harry scrubbed furiously at his scar, trying to make the pain lessen, but it didn't help. The throbbing touch of Voldemort still existed, an ache he wasn't sure he would ever be rid of. Ron shook his head as he turned and looked out the front bay window, his weight leaning against the edge of the wall.
Harry wished that he knew what his friend was thinking; he had never seen Ron quite as serious as he had been over the last few days. It seemed as though Vernon's heart attack, as well as the thoughts on the future the friends had exchanged, had taken some small bit of the joker out of the youngest son of the Weasley's. Harry sat in the chair, his attention drawing back to his relatives as he secretly hoped that the friendship the three had shared for years would not be undone by the weight they now carried. He looked over at Hermione, who simply smiled back at him, support shining in her eyes.
"I'll work with you on setting up the vacation, Harry. We'll take a drive to this… Gringotts once we know how much it's going to cost," Petunia offered. Vernon looked at her in surprise. "We can't very well have you do it, Vernon. The doctor said to avoid stressful stimuli as much as humanly possible, and I believe that your spending long periods of time with the boy would most definitely fall under that heading."
Vernon grunted as he lifted himself from the couch, his massive bulk making it quite difficult. The sounds of distant thudding had faded; apparently, Dudley had finished with the bag downstairs. The young Dursley passed his father in the parlor entry as Vernon directed his steps to the kitchen. Petunia watched him for a moment before turning back to Harry.
"I'm sorry about Vernon's behavior, Harry. The news that you had your own house seemed to him to be a way to send you off. I had to remind him of my pact with Dumbledore. How you were to remain here for at least two more weeks before we allowed you to leave." Harry nodded glumly. He wasn't looking forward to the next few days.
***********************
It took Harry and Petunia almost a week to come up with the plan, with input from Hermione and far too many interruptions from Vernon. Petunia met with Moody about the safe house they would be staying in during the remainder of the summer, and Hermione talked Remus into helping her learn the Fidelius Charm. The werewolf was not overly pleased to hear about their plans, but he had to chuckle when he heard what Harry had done to Grimmauld Place.
"You should have heard Moody roaring about at Hogwarts, Harry. He was switching opinion between giving you a medal for quick-thinking and hexing you into oblivion for pulling such a stunt without telling anyone," Lupin related as Harry talked to him via Floo network. The Marauder was presently at Number Twelve, and Harry could swear that he heard Kreacher muttering in the background.
"So the Order's meeting at Hogwarts right now?" Harry was glad to see the man seemed in much better spirits. His clothes were less shabby, and what seemed to be a spark in his eyes Harry had never seen before. Lupin smiled.
"Oh yes. We'd actually discussed doing so before you put your little plan into action. Of course, when we found out that the house was completely sealed to everyone but myself, we became somewhat concerned obviously. We do appreciate you informing us of what you had done as quickly as you did."
Harry blushed. "Sorry Professor. With Uncle Vernon getting sick, and all the things we're doing here, I just forgot." Remus laughed deeply.
"I have to tell you, Harry. Sirius would have laughed himself sick if he had seen Moody's face when he bounced back out of the fireplace in McGonagall's office. The man tried to get us to declare a full scale alert. It was only after I got through that they relaxed somewhat. He's looking to teach you something about communication amongst allies."
Harry gave Remus a grin his father had worn in one of the pictures in Harry's album. "Well, he should pay more attention to what's going on. Constant vigilance and all." Remus laughter joined with Harry's as they pictured Moody hearing his own words thrown back at him. Suddenly, Harry's mischievous streak kicked in. "So how's Tonks?"
Remus' cheeks began to turn scarlet as he coughed uncomfortably. "Well, she definitely had some things to say when she found out that no one but myself and you three are allowed into the house." His blatant embarrassment coupled with Harry's friendship with the unique woman made him flinch.
"Okay, I really don't need, nor want a diagram, thank you very much. Just keep that conversation to yourself." Harry tilted his head as he heard more muttering. "Is Kreacher there with you?"
"Yes he is. Going on about how the Mistress wouldn't approve of someone who is not a Black running the house, although he's actually been pleasant to me. Scared me a bit at first." Remus looked hard at Harry. "Your doing I suppose."
Harry smirked. "I just told him to be nicer to my friends and that I wouldn't have any more bloodline talk in my house. Perfectly harmless stuff."
"Well, whatever you told him, he's been perfectly miserable when he has to deal with me. I can actually see him trying to say something bad about me, but he just bows and smiles." The man looked behind him for a moment, before turning back to Harry. "I've got to finish up. The Order is meeting in a bit, and they'll want to know how things are there."
"Never better," Harry replied, for once telling the truth about his summer with the Dursleys. What with Petunia's willingness to compromise and Dudley's change in attitude, the house had been relatively peaceful. Vernon being required to avoid him improved things beyond his capacity to relate. For once, Privet Drive almost seemed like a home instead of a prison.
Most of that was of course due to Hermione and Ron's presence. When he wasn't playing Muggle chess or cards with Ron, the three of them were researching defensive and offensive spells, memorizing them for the day when they could practice them legally. Hermione was also trying to find as much information about Horcruxes from the books she had borrowed as she could. Unfortunately, she was still just as lost as she was the past spring.
"There's just nothing in the Hogwarts library to help us, Harry," she had told him two days previously. "I've checked and rechecked every greater Dark magic book the school had, and there is nothing in any of them except a variation of the same bloody sentence: `And on the subject of Horcruxes, we shall say no more, except that they are magic of the Darkest sort.' It is absolutely wretched. Dumbledore didn't say anything about where you could find out more, did he?" Harry had shook his head in melancholy.
"Everything he told me, I told to you and Ron. You two know everything I know about Horcruxes." She had simply huffed and gone off to check another book.
Remus bade Harry a fond goodbye, and the boy left Mrs. Figg's with a much lighter step. Things were well with Remus, the Order had a temporary Headquarters, and the Dursleys were leaving on their vacation in a few short hours. The summer seemed to be getting better all the time.
Of course, the Universe has it in for Mr. Harry James Potter, so who should be casually strolling along Privet Drive but one of the last people Harry wanted to see.
"Good day, Mr. Potter. Fancy meeting you here," cried Rufus Scrimgeour, his once tawny hair swept back under a fedora, a stylish trench coat covering his suit. The smile on the man's face was almost predatory, making Harry feel a bit sick to his stomach.
"Hello, Minister," Harry replied, wishing beyond all hope for Voldemort to try his luck at that very moment.
*************************
-->