Chapter Two
Distant Lights
Streetlights drenched the street in a dim orange glow. Like New York, London was a city that never slept but here, that proved profoundly untrue. Not even any late night stragglers could be found wondering drunkenly down it until a bright green light managed to impede itself upon such tranquillity. It pulsed once before it faded, revealing Harry Potter standing on the pavement, wonky staff in one hand and his wand in the other, alone. He heard an echo of a glassy crackle as the light fully dissipated. He scanned his immediate environment, taking in the brand new view of his surroundings and noticing the absence of his saviour. A lot had just happened in the last half an hour.
Harry knew he was in the right place, having heard Hermione's description of how prestigious her neighbourhood was. He remembered that she was rather embarrassed when she did, trying to live down her parents' obvious fortune. Now though, he had no idea which house was hers. Eyeing the houses across the street, he felt himself willing for one of the doors to open and rescue him from his sudden seclusion. His attention was called to the house behind him. "You look a bit lost there, petal."
Harry span on his heel, the lights blurring in and out of sight. Stood at the open doorway was a slender woman with thick wavy hair dressed in a silken dressing gown, a mug perched comfortably in her palms. "Err," he stammered, "a bit. Are you Mrs Granger?"
"Yes, I am," she smiled, beckoning him inside.
Although this woman was his best friend's mother, he couldn't help but be tentative. One question kept repeating itself in his head, which he unleashed as he approached. "How do you know the person who told you I was coming?"
"You don't know either?" she asked, bemused. "I thought he was a friend of yours, Harry. He told me you were in trouble and you needed a place to stay. I assumed he was just another member of your rebellion. I did wonder why he contacted me via telephone. You lot aren't particularly fond of them."
`You lot' ... Harry prayed that she wasn't another Vernon but since she was Hermione's mother, he gave her the benefit of the doubt and let her comment pass. "Thank you for letting me stay, Mrs Granger," he thanked, ascending the steps to the door.
"I couldn't let one of my daughter's best friends sleep on the street, especially with that maniac following you. I assume I should be expecting that tall, grey headmaster of yours?" She gave way for Harry to pass, closing the door once he was safely inside. "Where are your things?"
Dumbledore ... perhaps he knew the identity of his rescuer; although he had a tendency of shielding Harry from what he wanted to know. "I'm not sure," he pondered. "And this is all I have. I had to leave in a bit of a hurry." He didn't regret not answering the phone earlier nor heeding the warning straight away. He was clever to doubt it in the first place, though relieved to have entertained its validity - he wouldn't have escaped had it not been for Hedwig ... "My owl!" he expelled but Mrs Granger gestured to quickly stifle it.
Harry's heart sank; had Hedwig become another casualty of war? He remembered letting her out of the cage but he gotten so caught up with the fleeting battle before fleeing Privet Drive that she was soon forgotten. "What's wrong, Harry?" asked Mrs Granger, putting her cup down on a small table with a bowlful of pebbles and keys.
Muted Apparation cracks interrupted his response. His wand was pointed at the door instantly, ensuring Hermione's mother stayed behind him. He didn't advance or retreat, bravery and cowardice were in direct confrontation with each other.
Several tense seconds followed the final Apparation until a reassuring incantation produced a click from the door, from an equally reassuring voice; enough for Harry to lower his wand. "Harry! Thank Merlin!" Remus Lupin, his bodily edges smoothed by the streetlights behind him as he entered, stormed down the hallway.
"Stop!" exclaimed Harry, pointing his wand offensively. Remus slowed, complying with the order. "How did you train me to use the Patronus Charm?"
"We used a Boggart in the form of a Dementor since that was what you most feared at the time," replied Lupin who soon continued his approach and took his best friend's son into his arms. Happy to see him, Harry smiled and reciprocated the hug, knowing safety had undoubtedly descended.
They broke apart as Remus's ensemble followed his lead. Harry saw Tonks directly behind him, her hair almost fluorescent orange. "We're so sorry!" she apologised, stepping past Lupin and giving Harry another hug.
When she retreated, she took Lupin's side. More were behind; Alastor Moody stood to the left of the hallway and Kingsley Shacklebolt was on the right but the vanguard pair parted to reveal the most prolific visitor, Albus Dumbledore. He approached silently, towering over Harry before pulling him into an undeniably intense hold. "I am so sorry, Harry," he choked, breaking contact. Hogwarts' headmaster wiped several speckles beneath his eyes, which were unhidden by his missing glasses. "I have failed you catastrophically. How on Earth did you survive?"
Professor Dumbledore rarely asked questions, and even rarer were ones that he did not already know the answer to. This also meant, however, that he had no idea of the catalyst of his rescue and subsequent escape. "Someone helped me." For the moment, elaboration would have to wait, so distracted them with his own question. "Why did the wards fail, sir? I thought Voldemort couldn't get to me."
Dumbledore composed himself and cleared his throat, sniffling slightly. His gaze ascended over Harry's head. "Pardon me, Mrs Granger, I'm ever so sorry for our intrusion."
Harry twisted to see her still there, smiling amorously. "Any intrusion is welcome as long as this young man is safe."
"May we use your common room so we may discuss tonight's events?" requested Dumbledore charmingly.
Mrs Granger acquiesced and led them to the lounge, where all present Order members sat along with Harry who claimed the leather armchair; the host left the room with orders of cups of tea and coffee. Dumbledore regarded Harry with a sombre look - bad news. "Your Aunt and Uncle were killed a few hours ago resulting in a total malfunction of the wards surrounding number four, Privet Drive."
So the last remnants of his family were dead. He despised the Dursleys but still held enough compassion to withhold the wish of their demise. He did notice that their loss was more of a mental impact rather than an emotional one. Harry's gaze gradually dipped as he contemplated their deaths but his head shot back up. "You said nothing about Dudley," he pointed out.
"You are right and he is alive. Only just, I must add. He sustained injuries far beyond Muggle treatment and considering their source, it was decided that he be taken to Saint Mungo's," explained Dumbledore. "Without wanting to sound morbid, I advise you to see him tomorrow if you still have the chance."
Harry nodded with fervency, he owed his cousin that. "Why were the wards so dependent on the Dursleys being alive?"
"Initially, they were cast with the ability to sustain themselves," Dumbledore began. "Over the years, I assume they entwined with the magic of your familial bloodline; in essence, Petunia's blood relation to your mother. That, essentially, should have made the wards stronger and a lot more resilient. Alas, such protection only worked when they occupied the house."
Harry sighed defeatedly. Voldemort was such a persistent bastard. Even though Harry wasn't particularly fond of the Dursleys, they were family, meaning his nemesis grew ever closer to home. With Sirius gone, almost certain Hedwig was too, and the death of his lifelong guardians, the Dark Lord slowly but surely continued to demoralise and destroy him; no need for the infamously lethal, two-worded, six-syllable incantation.
Dumbledore pressed on. "When you're ready, Harry, can you tell us the means of your escape?"
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Harry relayed his version of the frenzied half an hour leading up to the confrontation with his current company. Dumbledore interrupted when he needed Harry to elaborate on particular parts of the account, as well as to ask several questions, nearly all of which the teenage boy was unable to answer. Tonks engorged herself on Mrs Granger's bourbon and custard creams, eating them absentmindedly, absorbed by Harry's story. All mugs of tea and coffee were eventually drained by the time Harry finished his report.
"It is difficult to determine this agent's allegiance. He had prior knowledge of the attack, suggesting he is a Death Eater spy. However, I doubt that any Death Eater, as evil as they can be, would kill their own - especially as many as Harry said," the headmaster surmised.
"You-Know-Who would sacrifice half of his pawns to implement a spy - this is a blatant attempt gain Harry's trust. Harry said this guy deflected every Killing Curse with almost one-hundred per cent accuracy. Why didn't he kill You-Know-Who?" gathered Alastor.
Harry's looked at Dumbledore, his heart racing. Dumbledore returned a stoic glance, but Harry knew they were toying with the same conclusion. "Excuse me, I need to speak with Harry in private," announced Dumbledore.
Harry followed the wizened man out of the room. Closing the door behind him, Dumbledore muttered "muffliato" before they continued.
"At any point, did you tell this person about the prophecy?"
Harry felt himself pull an incredulous grimace. "Professor, even my closest friends are oblivious of the contents of the prophecy; is your faith in me lacking so much that you think I would divulge such information to a stranger?" he defended.
"Forgive me, Harry. I am merely concerned how easily you have warmed to this character."
"To be fair, sir, this guy saved my life. And although it would take a lot more than that for me to reveal such an important secret, it doesn't mean I'm any less grateful for what he did."
Dumbledore paused to ponder; whatever it was, he came to a prompt conclusion. "May I have permission to siphon myself a copy of tonight's events from your memory so I can see for myself? I in no way doubt your story, Harry; I simply believe it needs a different perspective to ascertain your saviour's objective."
Harry really had no argument against it. In fact, he welcomed his headmaster's input and could not deny the man's eye for detail. It didn't take him long to reach his agreement. "What's the spell?"
Dumbledore smiled kindly. "Just play the events back in your head and focus on as much detail as you remember and your subconscious mind will fill what your conscious mind missed."
Harry closed his eyes and recalled the phone call, the invasion, his subsequent flight and landing minutes later; the green light he mistook for the Killing Curse, the stranger's revelation and his call to Mrs Granger, Voldemort's arrival and the ensuing battle. He specifically remembered the maroon garments and the unmistakable hair of the same colour with the turquoise pendant that hung around his neck. As he reminisced, a thick, cold thread escaped via his temple. It didn't hurt, but he felt a cold sweat at the back of his neck and the flush of his face. He heard wand-tip tap glass followed by a quiet squelch of air as Dumbledore safely contained the memory.
"Unless you have anything to say or ask, we should take leave."
"Aren't I returning with you?" Harry wondered, "or at least to You-Know-Where?"
"For the time being, I believe you are as safe here as you would be there. Tonight has been a significant blow to Voldemort, so I doubt the existence of a second wave," Dumbledore admitted. "I swear to you that I will investigate this mysterious warrior immediately and I will let you know immediately if I notice anything you have missed."
"Very likely," said Harry.
"You did very well remembering what you have considering the pressure you were under. I would like you to visit the school next week so I can show you what I have discovered and to give you a chance to spot any discrepancies for yourself."
"I'd appreciate that, Professor. For the moment though, it's in better hands."
"We shall see." Dumbledore flicked his wand to disable the Muffliato charm and assembled the Order.
"Look after yourself, Harry," Kingsley advised, who shook his hand thoroughly.
"Remember, Potter, constant vigilance. Watch your arse 'therwise some poofter will end up watching it for yer," laughed Alastor, his eye spinning excitedly, earning a confused chuckle from Harry. "Don't become a damsel in distress again, lad, it don't suit yer."
"Mad Eye!" scowled Professor Dumbledore.
"Just tellin' it like it is, Albus."
"Ignore the cripple, Harry," smiled Tonks, hugging him farewell. "When he's in a spot of bother, ain't no-one coming to save that damsel!" Harry laughed genuinely this time. "Please, be careful, pet. We'll see you soon."
"I'll try but you know me, I have a knack for attracting danger," he shrugged.
"And we won't be far," Remus interposed, executing a gentler handshake before pulling him into a manhug, slapping his back reassuringly.
"How not far will you be?" Harry asked, breaking away.
"We're staying in a place in Islington. I think you know it," Lupin hinted.
Grimmauld Place. It surprised Harry that the Order of the Phoenix were still operating out of that shithole. He thought the whole place would have been compromised following the mishap at the Department of Mysteries - perhaps not. Thinking about it, he knew relatively nothing about magic and he had a lot more to learn in his final two years at Hogwarts; if he lived that long ...
The party of five disappeared behind five sequential bursts of flame in the fireplace. Mrs Granger turned to him, looking worn out and slightly exasperated. "I'll show you to your bedroom."
"I really appreciate your hospitality, Mrs Granger. Thank you," he said as he followed her up the stairs.
"If you're half the young man Hermione tells us about, you are very welcome." Her voice gradually grew quiet as they neared the first floor landing. "She has a hard time talking about anything or anyone but you." She stopped and opened the second door along the hallway. "Sleep well, Harry."
He entered the immaculate room closing the door behind him. Overwhelming joy swept over him when he caught the well-poised, snowy owl through day-blessed window. "Hedwig!"
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