A/N: A line taken from this chapter is from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Lily's pleas in chapter one came from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. The story now begins fully, and in Harry's perspective. Doubtful that I may switch out of it later.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling is now, hopefully, writing the real book seven, I am just a bored and impatient university student who can't stand the wait, ergo, I don't own a thing.
*****
Secrets and Surprises
Yet again for a summer, the "mentally-imbalanced" fourth occupant of house number four, Privet Drive, was to be found shut up in his bedroom determinedly ignoring, and being ignored by, his relatives. Home from school early, (St Brutus' Home for Criminally Insane Boys to those who knew of him) he and they had come to an agreement that he would keep out of sight until the usual appointed time for his arrival. That day had long passed, but no one was too hurried to break the arrangement, the Dursleys liked to pretend that their nephew didn't exist.
But it wasn't exactly an easy job. Harry Potter, their nephew, was a tall and skinny boy of nearly seventeen with a head of messy black hair, bright green eyes, round-rimmed glasses and a curious lightening-bolt scar on his forehead. More than that, he also had a barely contained secret, he was a wizard.
Currently, he looked nothing like one. Lying curled up in the middle of his bed in only his shorts and a t-shirt, his room was a complete mess about him. Confined to it since his arrival he had not much bothered with tidiness. What was the point; it wasn't as if he was going anywhere.
Socks, underwear, clothes-dirty and clean-books, newspapers-Muggle (or non-magic folk) and Wizard-and owl treats lay strewn about the floor. Hedwig's cage was a mess, the snowy-white occupant secretly let out earlier that evening and doubtful to return in a hurry. His school trunk was still locked; he had no real reason to open it and didn't much care to get more clothes out for the floor. His wand lay on the nightstand, but was half-buried under letters from the Order, the Weasleys and his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. If Aunt Petunia set foot in the room at that moment she would probably have a stroke.
Wishing that she would though, didn't seem to be working.
But Harry would eventually have to clean it up. In a few days he planned to leave number four, Privet Drive for good, and once he did, he meant to leave little of himself behind.
The day couldn't come fast enough.
Sixteen years before, Professor Dumbledore, his late Headmaster at Hogwarts-one of the best Wizarding schools in the world and his actual school-had enacted a special protection charm that meant as long as he could call number four "home" he would be safe from the attack of the Dark Lord Voldemort and his supporters. After Godric's Hollow, he knew well that the "Boy-Who-Lived" would be in constant danger of those thirsty for revenge. Just that last year Professor Dumbledore had told him and the Dursleys that the protection would fall on his seventeenth birthday: the day he became of age in the Wizarding world. The Dark Lord had been back for over a year then, but apparently it wasn't Harry who needed protection.
He could barely believe that just four weeks before he had been in Professor Dumbledore's office eagerly trying to join him on a secret mission. Hours later, he would be knelt beside his body at the foot of the school's Astronomy Tower while the murderer and his accomplices made their escape.
If it was to be the last thing he did, Harry would make sure that Voldemort and all in league with him paid.
And that was why he was leaving. He had always planned to leave the Dursleys, and at every chance he could get wondered at the possibility of it. After all, there was only so much of being treated like a house elf one boy could take.
At first it would have been to go to the Weasleys, Ron's large but poor family who treated him with love he had long forgotten existed. He would fit right in with them, he thought, and with Ginny, his… well ex-girlfriend now, he would probably never forget it again. But no, that couldn't work. It seemed that from the moment he met them he put them in danger. Hadn't Ron gotten hurt trying to help him with the Philosopher's Stone in First Year?
Then there was his godfather Sirius Black. Wrongfully accused of betraying Harry's parents, the murder of Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggles, he had spent twelve years in Azkaban prison before escaping to go after the real culprit, Peter. Harry had spent an entire year thinking he was trying to kill him, and then one crazy evening with a Time Turner and Hermione trying to help him escape.
By rights then, he should have been able to go to his godfather instead of the Dursleys, despite his prison time Sirius would have made a much better guardian than them. But the Ministry would not hear of Sirius' innocence and since Peter had managed to escape, destroying their best attempt at proof, he couldn't. Nearly two years later, Sirius was killed by his own cousin in the Department of Mysteries trying to rescue Harry and his friends….
Harry then settled himself to leaving once his schooling was finished and he had somehow, if possible, figured out a way to stop Voldemort in-between. He generally didn't spend the entire summer with the Dursleys anyway; he might be able to stand them until then.
It would take secret lessons with Professor Dumbledore and the Killing Curse, yet again, to ensure that this happened prematurely.
He had arranged with Ron and Hermione that he would leave at the end of this week-that should be long enough for the protection charm-and go to the Weasley home, The Burrow, for the wedding of Ron's eldest brother, Bill, and Fleur Delacour. After that they would begin in earnest to stop Voldemort.
He actually would have preferred for Ron and Hermione to remain with their families, anyone near him was a target. His parents, Professor Dumbledore, his godfather Sirius, Cedric Diggory who was just his fellow competitor in the Tri-Wizard Tournament in Fourth Year, Ginny who was lucky to survive it, all paid for the association.
But neither would hear of it, as Hermione had said: "You said to us once before that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?"
And of course, locked up in his bedroom, he had also come to realise just how lonely he would be without them.
Just out his window all of Little Whinging was coated in a heavy mist that glowed, an eerie pale blue in the gentle moonlight. Somewhere out there Hedwig was on the hunt or returning with carefully cryptic mail from his friends. At the end of Privet Drive an Order member was most certainly standing guard, wary of all who passed, while Mrs Figg in her smelly old house looked out on them. Downstairs he knew the Dursleys, minus Dudley, were watching the evening news, he could hear the presenter's voice: "Authorities are still unable to provide an answer for what may have caused the ferry's sinking, while rescuers continue to fish bodies from the Thames. So far, thirty-six have been confirmed dead, seventeen injured and twelve missing. It's been an exceptionally bad couple of weeks for the year-old government: the source of Scotland's wildfire is yet to be determined, the murders of seven members of the Metropolitan Police are still unsolved with no immediate leads and the…"
To all three he had answers, the ferry was sunk by a sea monster the equivalent of a giant squid, the fire had been started by dragons and the policemen were killed by Death Eaters. Of course, no one could just tell the Muggles that. One, they may not believe them, or two; they would be terrified and react badly, very badly.
He also had an answer for Dudley's absence. Yesterday had been particularly hot, and as such, he had decided to free himself of his hermitage. Neither his aunt and uncle nor his Order guard had been too thrilled, but he went out anyway. How would they like to be shut up in a hot bedroom while the possibility of cooler air without mocked them?
Somewhere around the park though, he stumbled across his cousin and friends and a curious conversation that ran: "How long d'you reckon you'll be able to keep this quiet mate? Mr Gladstone's determined to find your parents."
"I know that! That runt Benson was always a little snitch; at least I got him good before he squealed."
"But you're expelled; they're going to get suspicious eventually."
"I kept it quiet this long! Besides, my cousin's home early too, they're more concerned about keeping that quiet than about me."
Actually he had found out about Dudley's expulsion the same day he got home. While they had been driving him back from the station he thought he had caught a glimpse of Dudley ducking his massive bulk into an alleyway. The conversation just confirmed it. But he had no plans of getting involved, in a few days he would be leaving; let them sort that out on their own after.
And again, that departure couldn't come soon enough.
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been particularly upset about his early return from Hogwarts.
They were waiting for him as he stepped out at the station between Platforms Nine and Ten. Uncle Vernon as large as ever, still dressed in his suit from the office, dark hair slightly messed and eyes glancing anxiously about at the passing passengers, had a distinctly peeved look. It translated to his voice as he surreptitiously tried to hurry Harry along as he parted from Hermione (Ron had left on the Wizard side of the platform) and then when an Auror decided to run over their car with a series of detectors.
Aunt Petunia, tall and thin with a slightly horse-like face, blue eyes and blonde hair, just looked somewhat sour, and to the point that Hermione's mother asked if there was anything wrong with her teeth.
Harry stifled his amusement to quickly assure his aunt and uncle that they were Muggle and dentists.
On the ride back from King's Cross, Uncle Vernon repeatedly complained that they should have just left Harry on the platform. Aunt Petunia, surprisingly, didn't join in, and when she did, to the astonishment of both Harry and Vernon, she firmly insisted that they couldn't. That shut him up.
For the first week then, Uncle Vernon had nothing to say about or to Harry other than barked commands to wash the dishes, mow the lawn or clean his room. In the second week though, with Professor Dumbledore's words in mind, he found that Harry had over-stayed his welcome and prepared to evict him. Harry was more than ready to leave and was halfway up the stairs to send out the letter to Ron and Hermione when Aunt Petunia yelled that Harry could not leave.
Harry halted and spun round just in time to catch her last words, "It's not been long enough, not nearly long enough for it to work!"
Harry didn't have to see him to know that Uncle Vernon's round fat face was probably an interesting shade of purple. After all they had done to "stamp out" Harry's magic, to pretend that magic didn't exist, here was Aunt Petunia advocating their role in the sustenance of a bit of it.
Uncle Vernon protested, "But Petunia, the boy has a house!"
"Not yet Vernon, he has to stay!" insisted Aunt Petunia, her tone as commanding as whenever she spoke to Harry.
What exactly had happened between Aunt Petunia and Professor Dumbledore anyway?
But before he had the chance to wonder if she had somehow had a change of heart towards it or him-and especially since she had not used her usual excuse of "the neighbours"-she barked, "You go back to your room and stay there!"
He did as he was told, but for the fact that it gave him a chance to think about something. He had no idea where Godric's Hollow was or for that matter, where his parents were buried. A map would have been useful, but that didn't tell him the house number and he didn't have one. Seeing that Aunt Petunia knew more about magic than she usually let on-the incident of two years before when the Dementors nearly got Dudley coming to mind-he decided to see if he would get it out of her. He had actually planned on asking Lupin, but with the availability of a less willing-to-go-along source, how could he pass up the opportunity?
Unfortunately, much like after that incident, Aunt Petunia refused to be forthcoming. And because he usually only came into contact with her during mealtimes, and on one occasion, when he was going for a bath-where she quickly hurried away-he was without the luxury of seeing her face. Surely some reaction would give her away.
Nevertheless, he was persistent, and this new mission had kept him preoccupied in the time that led to today, when he realised that it was nearly three weeks since his arrival. He had even temporarily forgotten that there was a war raging beyond their property line.
Ron and Hermione didn't though.
In his letters, Ron, using one of Fred and George's supposedly Spell-Checking quills, wrote of incidents where Order members were hurt, Tonks being pulled from the field and sent to the Ministry and their curious flitting about at the Burrow. The wedding plans were in full swing, Charlie was the Best Man, Fleur, Mrs Weasley and Ginny were getting along a little better and Bill's face had improved some, and they were all very concerned about security. More than that, he had been trying to find out about Godric's Hollow and Harry's parents without alerting suspicion. He was having a definite lack of success though; everyone was too busy or would start asking questions in return.
This information came about a bit sporadically too; Ron was not used to writing long letters and was having some trouble deciding how much he should mention. He was also working on the hope that the quills' tendency to misspell words would act as a cloak for his real meanings.
Harry could assure him that from the frustration he often felt at the end of attempting to read one of his paragraphs that it was working.
Hermione, by contrast, was much better at it. Her letters arrived as blank pages that looked very much like a simple stationery supply, but once held up to a light the words appeared. It was a Muggle method of invisible ink, using limes, and Hermione must have considered that if intercepted no one would be the wiser. It took him quite a while to figure it out too, and that was only because she had sent a cover letter with the supply that casually mentioned what to do.
Much more accustomed to long letters than Ron, Hermione explained in detail all she had been up to since she got home, including finding possible matches for the identity of RAB and "looking at cauldrons", which he took to mean "Horcruxes". As a treat, maybe to make him feel better, she even sent a clipping from a newspaper about a reported credible sighting and near escape of Snape near London.
It didn't really make him feel better, but it was the thought that counted.
Neither provided any hesitation about what they planned to do, asked questions about where they were to stay or even tried to change his mind.
Worryingly, also neither had mentioned if they had told their parents yet. His relatives would not mind his departure, and he didn't know about Hermione's parents but Mrs Weasley surely would have something to say. She was still upset about the twins leaving and they had done that last year.
That aside, such resolve encouraged him with Aunt Petunia, but then at times, such as tonight as he lay in his room alone in the dark, fuelled a sense of guilt.
If anything happened to them he would never forgive himself, and the best way to avoid it was to abandon them at the first possible opportunity. But he couldn't, he needed them… and they would probably track him down anyway. Especially Hermione, if she had been so determined to prove that the Half-Blood Prince was up to no good, and a girl, finding him would be a walk in the park.
There was a tapping at his window and he snapped out of his thoughts to find that the house had gone silent. His relatives had probably gone to bed, but he was sure Dudley hadn't come in yet.
The school term had officially ended so his ruse should have been up, but it seemed that Dudley too was in no hurry to end an arrangement.
The tapping at the window came again, and Harry rose and stumbled over to admit Hedwig. His limbs ached from disuse and he had to stretch a bit halfway there before continuing. Hedwig gave him a look as he opened the window that said plainly "Lazy boy."
He ignored her, revelling instead in a blast of warm, fresh air that had rushed in after she entered, and then closed the window to head back to his bed. Before he did though, he managed to catch a glimpse of a black-cloaked figure checking some object in his hand before seemingly disappearing behind a lamppost. Order or Ministry security he could not tell, and didn't care to. It was very clear that if he wanted to keep his plans secret they were going to be a problem.
He was nearly at the bed then, when Hedwig hooted impatiently alerting his attention to the letter attached to her leg. Hurrying to silence her before Uncle Vernon woke up, ("Shut up that ruddy bird before I do!") he removed the letter from her leg and went to his bedside lamp to read it.
It was the Order, or Lupin to be exact, and was rather brief: "I hope that you are well, though I know it must be difficult. However, we must get immediately to business. Dumbledore has left a Will to be read this Saturday and you have been requested by name. I'd like to talk to you about something before that, we are…"
But Harry was uninterested in the rest, no matter how little of it there was. For two years now they had excluded him from their plans, and granted this may have had something to do with their ignorance of the prophecy, he was no longer really interested. Let them attend to fighting the war; let him to the Dark Lord.
*****
From the day he was born, the world of one Dudley Dursley had been a comfortable one. His every whim and fancy was bended to, his every desire fulfilled, if he cried his mother came running, if he threw a tantrum his father would present a toy, and of course he was fed to his heart's content.
When he was a year old he suddenly found himself in the company of his orphaned cousin Harry. This changed nothing, Dudley took to his cousin as a punching bag rather than a possible little brother, encouraged by his parents' determination that the boy was a freak. They didn't like magic, Harry was a wizard, and they thought their world would be much better if he didn't exist. It was no surprise then that the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, unhealthily overweight boy would grow into a spoiled bully.
But unfortunately, and for him at least, that also meant that he was not entirely prepared for the day he finally did the impossible and displeased his parents.
For Harry though, it was long time coming.
The day before he was purported to leave, Harry cleaned his room. It was no easy task, as it was still some four weeks to his birthday he could not use magic and the room was a complete and utter pig-sty. Not only that, but a summer heat had dared to force its way through the mist and the humidity climbed. The sky was cloudless and pale blue above, the sun bearing down on them mercilessly, already had reports of heat-stroke related hospitalisations come over the television downstairs. Having washed his clothes and put them into the finally opened trunk, he was wearing some of Dudley's old things and they uncomfortably stuck to his skin.
It took him much of the morning, after Aunt Petunia slid his breakfast through the cat-flap and by the time he was finished it felt as if every muscle in his body was stretched and aching. The room though, looked in much better condition than it had been when he got it. At that time, after years of sleeping in a cupboard, the room, Dudley's second bedroom, was heavenly.
With this task done, he sent Hedwig out with a letter to Lupin replying that he would go with them for the reading of the Will. He, of course, made no mention of his intentions to leave the next day without them. He should have remembered that lesson from First Year, if he wanted to get something done he would have to depend on his own resources.
Harry had then just finished with his bath when voices wafted up the stairs to him of an argument. He ignored it, Aunt Petunia had told him earlier that day that Dudley's headmaster (former, but she didn't know that) was to come to tea that evening. That of course, had the added though unspoken command that Harry was to remain in his room-quiet-all through Mr Gladstone's visit. He thought Uncle Vernon and Mr Gladstone were disagreeing over politics or spark plugs, or maybe the heavy mist the meteorologists were at a loss to explain.
Uncle Vernon had just that morning grumbled something along the lines of "… those freaks… his lot's doing… weird…."
Over the racket he intentionally made in the room though, he couldn't be sure.
And then he heard a crucial statement: "Mr Gladstone, I have never been so offended in my entire life! How dare you come into our home and accuse our Dudders of something like that? He wouldn't hurt a flea!"
Harry snorted. He couldn't believe it; no one could be that ignorant…. Then again, he was dealing with the Dursleys….
His curiosity getting the best of him, Harry dressed quickly and slipped out of his bedroom to the landing where he would not be seen but could perfectly hear.
"Mr Dursley, I can assure you that I am not mistaken, I would not come into your home just to accuse your son. Matthew Benson positively identified his attackers, your son and a Simon Headley. According to Mr Benson they cornered him in the school's bathroom and assaulted him. Now, I know that such behaviour has occurred under previous administrations at Smeltings but I am not permitted to allow it to continue!"
Aunt Petunia stepped in, "I would like to meet this Matthew Benson, let him tell me to my face that Dudley hit him!"
"I would not consider that a good idea, when neither one of you showed up at my summons, expelling Dudley with immediate effect was all I could do to prevent his parents from taking this to the authorities."
"The Authorities? Summons? This is the first we've heard of this incident!" protested Uncle Vernon.
"But I sent a summons… or maybe you should ask your son about that as well. I believe he has much to tell you."
Now accusing (rightfully) Dudley of beating up someone the Dursleys could stand. Uncle Vernon surely had no problem with the possible many reports of attacks he and Aunt Petunia received throughout the year. But to say that Dudley lied to them… that was preposterous!
Harry grimaced slightly and braced himself for the storm.
Instead, he received a shove from behind that sent him staggering halfway down the stairs and alerted the others to his eavesdropping. But Harry didn't have to look behind him to know his attacker, he would know those hands anywhere, it was Dudley.
"What was that?" demanded Mr Gladstone from the living room.
"Find something funny?" demanded Dudley from the top of the stairs.
Uncle Vernon, already upset from the accusations of Mr Gladstone, explained impatiently, "My nephew, the boy… is a bit of a problem child…."
Harry straightened himself on the stairs and showed Dudley his wand in his pocket, (he paled) and replied, "Yeah."
"You can't do magic, or they'll arrest you this time. I'm going to break that thing!" declared Dudley.
"I'm sure that they'll let me off with a warning… after all, I would be doing Muggles a public service," Harry told him, and dared to smirk.
Dudley didn't seem to care. With agility Harry could not believe he possessed he raced down the steps to him and shoved him, hard, the rest of way. Harry immediately went tumbling and landed heavily unto the floor at the base of them, but thankfully, from what he could feel despite the stars in his eyes and the throbbing, breathtaking pain of his back, his wand was not broken.
Because of his place at the base of the stairs though, it meant that those in the living room could clearly see him lying there, and immediately Mr Gladstone was on his feet and advancing, asking, "My goodness boy, are you alright?"
Uncle Vernon feebly tried to explain, "He fell… he's always hurting himself… he's seriously imbalanced…."
"That's not true!" declared Harry, all desire to play along and keep out of it gone.
Forcing himself to sit up only alerted him to the acute pain of his rear end. It felt very much as if he were sitting directly on the bones.
"What happened to you? That sounded an awful spill…" asked Mr Gladstone before his voice trailed off when he saw Dudley standing frozen on the stairs where he had pushed Harry.
Dudley looked both surprised and alarmed and Harry had to wonder how he could not have heard his father and headmaster arguing below. Of course when he wasn't out Dudley sometimes lay about in his room looking at dirty pictures on his computer with the music of his stereo at top volume. He had probably been doing just that before, but with his headphones on.
Mr Gladstone, in contrast, didn't look surprised to see him at all, and said, "I should have known… your son is a dangerous bully and I will not have the like at my school. I have seen enough, good day to you sir, ma'am."
Uncle Vernon hurried round the chairs to Mr Gladstone and tried to explain, "The boy is always hurting himself, and others. He doesn't like us; we had to send him to St Brutus'-"
Surprising himself, Harry cut in, "He pushed me! He's always pushing me! Just like I know he did that Benson boy, day before yesterday I heard him and his friends talking about it!"
"What's that nonsense boy?" demanded Uncle Vernon, seemingly forgetting Mr Gladstone there as he turned on Harry and began to go purple.
Now, nobody liked a snitch but under the circumstances….
"'Dudders' here and his friends were in the park talking about it. He beat up Benson and was boasting about it, just like he did the others before him. You think he's been going to tea or the library or even school in the last two weeks? He's been beating up kids, throwing stuff at people's cars and smoking all over the park and in Magnolia Crescent with his buddy Polkiss!" Harry declared.
"You're lying, boy!" snarled Uncle Vernon.
"No, he's not," said Mr Gladstone, calmly. "I've repeatedly caught Dudley smoking at the school, and I've heard of this gang."
"I think you should leave Mr Gladstone," said Uncle Vernon then, turning to him and pointing to the door.
"Gladly," said Mr Gladstone, and he immediately went to the door and retrieved his coat. But before he stepped out he turned back to them and said, "I will make sure to send his records to the next school he attends. This boy has a violent nature and they'll want to know about it."
"How dare you…" began Uncle Vernon, but Mr Gladstone didn't wait to hear the rest.
He stepped out and shut the door, firmly, behind him. Moments later they heard his car start up in the driveway and then he was gone.
There was then a moment of heavy breathing and silence, where Harry realised that he was now alone with his furious relatives, and began to make plans for escape.
The vein at the back of Uncle Vernon's head had risen again and was throbbing somewhat worryingly, while his fists clenched and unclenched at his side. Dudley was glowering at him enraged, and gripping the stair-rail rather tightly he seemingly had no plans of letting Harry get back up them to his room. Aunt Petunia, however, was still standing where they had left her in the living room and staring oddly off to the side, and rather distantly at that. If ever there was a time to wish that he had Professor Dumbledore to ensure that they didn't kill him, it was now.
Finally deciding that whether he moved then or moments later it was inevitable that he would be attacked, he started towards Dudley. It was the excuse his cousin needed to launch at him, but Aunt Petunia's voice cut in sharply, "Go to your rooms, right now, both of you!"
Dudley, Vernon and Harry turned to her immediately, but after weeks of bearing witness to her strange behaviour, Harry was barely surprised.
Uncle Vernon, though, continued to be astounded by his wife and tried to protest, "Petunia, the boy has to go, he has a house! It's time for him to leave! This was the last straw; I will not have him thwarting our son's future!"
"We will find another school, a better school for Dudley. Mr Gladstone clearly doesn't know him," said Aunt Petunia.
"Of course we will…" said Uncle Vernon. "But this boy (he snatched the back of Harry's shirt and fisted his collar) has to go! He has been nothing but trouble since day one! He's jealous of-"
"And Harry stays until tomorrow. You said you were going to leave tomorrow right?" she asked, turning to him.
Harry, struggling against Uncle Vernon's grip on the shirt, but not really as it was yet again another of Dudley's over-sized ones, replied, "Yes, but I can do it today."
Aunt Petunia shook her head, "Tomorrow, you will go tomorrow as you wanted to. Until then go to your room and stay there. And you too Dudley."
Shocked to be disciplined by his mother, Dudley stuttered through his protest, "B-but Mum, he-he-"
"Go! NOW!" she snapped at them both.
Harry wrenched free of his uncle's grip and started up the stairs, pushing past Dudley who was just standing there staring stupidly after his mother. Never had he ever heard her use that tone on him, that tone was strange, foreign… that wasn't his mother speaking to him.
He gripped the tail of Harry's shirt and pulled him back for his father, "He's done something to her… with that-that thing… he's done it! I'm sure he can, I know he can!"
"Let him go Dudley Dursley, I want you both up in your rooms right now!" commanded Aunt Petunia, furiously.
Uncle Vernon though, stopped them when he demanded, "Now look here, what's this about Petunia? The old man is dead, the boy has his own house, he's supposedly almost of age, I want him out of my house!"
"If you turn him out the neighbours will talk, he's only sixteen!" said Petunia, reverting to her old excuse.
Usually it was quite effective, but Uncle Vernon had seen about enough of his wife's strange behaviour to be unsatisfied this time, "Petunia, this is our chance to be rid of this little freak and his ruddy bird and little freak friends! I want him gone!"
"He can leave tomorrow, on his own," insisted Aunt Petunia, her face as serious as a magistrate's.
"If this is about that nonsense with that Volde-whatever-he-is that the old man-who intruded into our home last year, mind you-told you, and some kind of 'protection' I've had it up to here with that magic nonsense! I want the boy gone, now!" nearly shouted Uncle Vernon.
Aunt Petunia snapped, and in more ways than one, "It-is-not-nonsense! He killed her and that boy she married, and he very well may come after us! When I heard them talking, it was about those things that went after Dudders, those hideous things had gone to him, that Lord Voldemort, was it? And he was going to use them to attack people's homes, not theirs alone! Let Harry leave on his own tomorrow, you heard his headmaster, as long as he can call us 'home' then the man can't come here."
After all these years… she knew this whole time….
Deciding that there was no time like the present, Harry came bounding down the stairs and demanded, "Where are they buried?"
She sharply turned to him, and he was surprised to see what could have been tears in her eyes, "What?"
"My parents, where are they buried…? If nothing else, you have to at least tell me that," replied Harry, boldly.
He was having a bit of difficulty keeping his emotions in check, but he didn't really want to now anyway. She had information he needed and she was willing to talk as long as he could force it out of her… if he could force it out of her. She owed it to him to tell him but she didn't have to, she had spent years not.
"She's letting you stay…" grumbled Uncle Vernon.
"At Godric's Hollow, that wizard town, it's in Oxford," replied Aunt Petunia.
Harry's jaw dropped, and hung there for a few minutes as he looked from her to Uncle Vernon. That was too easy, had he somehow accidentally non-verbally Imperiused her?
But no, the Ministry of Magic would be flooding the house with owls by now. And in her eyes he thought he saw the flicker of something almost foreign to her, it definitely wasn't remorse, but it was certainly unusual coming from her.
He decided to push his luck a bit, "Um… do-d'you-"
"That's all I'm going to say, that's all I have to say. Go to your room!" she told him.
He was not prepared to, he did not want to, but just before his uncle reached out to force him back up the stairs, he did. He'd already gotten what he wanted and the flicker had gone. And at least he could content himself for the while with the sight of Dudley, still shocked from his mother's scolding, stamping and grumbling all the way back to his room.
-->