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. I will continue working on this when I have time, but posts will be sporadic at best. Thank you for your patience and indulgence. Nothin' but love to you. I do understand that the prefabricated houses that Little Whinging would have do not have basements, but for the purposes of the story have ignored that one little detail. Check out Unrequited here on Portkey for some more of my work.
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 nineties).
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Harry felt so terrible; as if Grawp had decided that Harry was a new type of playtoy to toss around and mangle. His feet dragged the pavement as he slowly approached the door to Number Four, the flowers and bright green hedges a definite contrast to his current emotional state.
"Merlin, do I hate Scrimgeour."
The epithet had flung itself from his mind before he had a chance to swallow the vile name down. His desire to become an Auror was dwindling with every interaction with the Ministry of Magic. Any dreams he had once held in regards to the position of Dark Wizard catcher were long in the past. Harry smiled as he briefly contemplated taking over Florean Fortescue's shop. He was sure that such a job wouldn't be terrible at all. The memories of sitting in front of the small ice cream parlour before his third year, with books, parchment and an enormous mound of vanilla ice cream topped with butterscotch and marshmallows on the table before him, brought forth an even bigger smile. The thought of himself being the one helping school children work on their DADA homework while serving them smoothies seemed like a very good way to live after however many years it took to defeat Voldemort.
"That would definitely drive the Prophet nutters. I can even see the headline: `Harry Potter retires from fighting dark wizards for nuts, bananas, and fluff. Has he finally lost it after all?'" He chuckled at the thought of people's reactions. "I'd certainly never have to worry about advertising."
"Advertising for what, Harry?" Harry jumped in surprise to find Ron standing right next to him. He silently cursed at himself, angry that he had been so caught up in his thinking that he hadn't even noticed his red haired friend approach. He tried to think of something but was saved by Ron's next comment.
"Oy, mate. You look like you just took a bludger in the stomach. You alright there, Harry?"
Harry grimaced as he looked around, glad for once not to see anyone out and about. "The Minister decided to show himself on my way back from Mrs. Figg's." Ron's grimace at that tidbit of news seemed to almost match the feeling within Harry.
"Does he just not understand the meaning of the word no, or is he more dense than I am," the red-head ground out, a half-smirk on his face as Harry laughed at the self-jab. They finally made it to the porch, when Ron put his hand on the doorknob before Harry could grab it. "Just tell me that prat of a brother of mine didn't show himself as well."
"No Weasleys in Little Whinging, except the one keeping me from beating the stuffing out of the bag downstairs." Ron let out a soft sigh of relief as he opened the door.
"Pound away, Mr. Potter." Harry patted his friend's shoulder as he slid past towards the basement door. "You want to talk about it?" The question stopped Harry in his tracks, and he found himself turning to stare at his best mate as if he had said he was secretly a muggle. Ron grinned sheepishly before answering Harry's unasked question. "What? I'm working on developing the emotional range of a dishpan. Figure if I can get to the range of a coffee maker, I'll be in good shape."
Harry laughed, more tension bleeding out of him. "I'll be up in twenty to take a shower. I'll tell you both what happened over food." He headed with a lighter heart to the basement stairs while Ron made his way into the sitting room to watch "Fawlty Towers".
Before he descended to improve on his fighting, he looked back at Ron. "By the way, where's Hermione?"
"She's over with Mrs. Figg, talking to her about her kneazles. Then we're going to see this movie she's going spare over. Says I have to see it. Some sort of `re-release' thing she just won't shut up about."
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Harry watched from his upstairs window as the Dursley's car backed onto Privet Drive. As the car pulled away, Harry felt something wash across him. It felt like when he would go flying, a feeling of lightness, of indescribable being. As the car rounded the corner and took his relatives out of Little Whinging for three weeks, Harry suddenly realized that what he felt was... freedom.
He walked down the hall to the kitchen, his throat scratchy from thirst. He had, at the request of his aunt, stayed hidden in his room while Ron and Hermione remained at Mrs. Figgs'. Vernon, while `appreciating' the vacation, was loathe to hand control of his domain to `that wild-haired freak and his friends.' So in a moment of familial cohesion, the young wizard watched his family from the house, out of Vernon's hair, but assuredly not out of his mind.
Harry swung the door of the icebox open, trying to decide what to prepare for the evening meal. With the Dursley clan's departure, the three teenagers had decided to move into Number 4, much to Ron's delight and Hermione's disappointment. The young witch had enjoyed spending time with Mrs. Figg, and was in the midst of creating a new society that would focus on the rights of Squibs. Further thoughts of his friends were ironically interrupted by the sound of the front door and the bewildered tones of his redheaded best mate.
"So, she was his twin sister all along, but neither of them knew about it?"
"Exactly Ronald. The two children were hidden away so that they would be safe from anyone hunting them." Hermione's tone was a familiar one to Harry, as he and Ron had heard it most often at Hogwarts, usually when they had been studying for exams. He allowed himself a slight chuckle at the nostalgia he felt.
"Kinda like Harry, then. But with nicer people," Ron joked as he walked through the kitchen arch, his stride purposeful as he made a beeline for the crisps above the fridge. The look on Hermione's face as she entered the kitchen seemed to waver between realization and scandal at Ron's callous remark. Harry, in a brief moment of enlightenment, noted the eerie truth to Ron's statement as he began putting together a basic meatloaf.
"Ronald Weasley! How could you…you! Ooooh! Harry, call me when supper is ready. And you," Hermione hissed as she pointed at Ron, "Don't talk to me until tomorrow. And apologize to Harry." With that, she stormed from the room, and the two boys faces followed her progress as footsteps stomped across the second floor to the master bedroom. Harry winced as the sound of an angrily slammed door echoed through the house before looking at his friend.
"So the movie was good?" A look of disquiet and fear was wiped from Ron's face at Harry's response. He swallowed the remains of the crisps in his mouth before a grin split his face.
"Bloody brilliant more likely! There were three of `em. Hermione called them the `Holy Trilogy' or something like that. I had no idea muggles could come up with things like that. The lifesavers, and that `Almunius Falcon' and those storktrappers!'…" Harry laughed at his friend's usual mutilation of muggle terms.
"Millennium Falcon, Ron. And they're called lightsabres and stormtroopers" Harry chuckled as he put the meatloaf in the oven and handed Ron a knife. The two then started peeling potatoes over the sink.
"Whatever. It was wicked. Something like that sword would definitely be handy while hunting down Horcruxes or fighting Death Eaters." Silence fell over the kitchen for a moment as the two focused on their task; Harry trying to remove the bad spots, and Ron trying to avoid removing fingers. A few minutes later, the redhead looked over at Harry. "So, did your family get out okay?" Harry merely nodded as he cut out a discolored section from the potato he held. Silence again descended over the kitchen as Harry moved to toss the potato into a pot waiting on the sideboard. He was very glad he wasn't still engaged in cutting things a moment later when Ron again tried to fill the quiet.
"So where do you think they found a house elf willing to play a Jedi Master in a muggle movie?"
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