Flight From Privet Drive
A stiff, chill wind blew among the square, neatly kept houses of Privet Drive. It had been rather cool so far this summer- the coolest June in England for 50 years, according to the weatherman. The normally vibrant lawns of Privet Drive were a sickly sort of light green. The flowers lay lifeless in the gardens, either limp and withered or scrunched up tightly, refusing to bloom. The few people who were outdoors bustled about quickly and with purpose, wanting to spend as little time outside as possible.
A constant, unnaturally cool wind blew through the neighborhood, on account of which the residents of Privet Drive sat huddled in their houses doing their best to keep the cold out. All of the residents except for one, anyway.
Harry Potter was an odd boy on many accounts. To his neighbors on Privet Drive he was a scruffy looking loner who lived with the Dursley’s and attended St. Brutus’s Secure Center for Criminally Incurable Boys. To his fellow students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry he was the mysterious, self-effacing Gryffindor who seemed to always be at the center of everything. To anyone who could see him at this moment, however, he would simply be the brooding, morose young man in a dark, empty room who didn’t have enough sense to shut the window.
Harry lay on the bed with his hands behind his head, shutting his eyes as another cool gust of wind blew over him. His school trunk sat open next to the bed, most of its contents still inside. For the most part it looked like the trunk of someone who had just returned from a trip and hadn’t had time to unpack yet. Harry’s bedroom window was opened as wide as it could go, welcoming the cold, wet air the neighbors were so intent to keep out. Despite the lack of light coming from outside, none of the lights in the room were on, hiding much of the room in shadow. The darkness, coupled with the chill air constantly flooding through the window, gave the place an intensely morose, gloomy atmosphere. Harry preferred the room this way: It matched his mood perfectly.
It had been a miserable 3 weeks at the Dursley’s already. Harry felt a dull, throbbing emptiness inside from the death of Sirius. Having nothing to do but sit at Privet Drive and think about it definitely didn’t help either. He had spent most of the summer inside his room, coming out only to stretch his legs or use the bathroom.
The sudden flutter of wings snapped Harry from his reverie. A large, snowy white owl alit upon the windowsill with an enthusiastic hoot.
Harry slowly turned onto his side and glanced dully up at Hedwig.
“Welcome back,” he muttered.
Harry rose lethargically from his bed and walked over to Hedwig. She had brought two items: a folded up newspaper and a letter. She looked at Harry with her large, amber eyes, waiting for a sign of appreciation.
Harry, not noticing, blankly took the items and slouched back down on his bed.
He looked at the newspaper first: today’s Daily Prophet. Harry unfolded it and glanced uninterestedly at the headline.
YOU-KNOW-WHO STRIKES AT MUGGLE SPORTING EVENT
Ministry Forced to Modify Over 3000 Muggle Memories
Folding the paper back up, Harry lobbed it into the far corner of the room where it joined a number of other unread Daily Prophets. A good-sized pile was beginning to form.
Funny, he mused to himself. Last summer he had been so desperate for any news of Voldemort that he had scrounged through rubbish bins and hid in bushes. Now, nearly every day brought a new headline about Voldemort, and he didn’t care enough to even open the paper. He didn’t care about much since Sirius had died…
He apathetically picked up the letter Hedwig had brought and opened it. It was from Hermione.
Hello Harry! Nothing new to report since yesterday. Nothing you couldn’t have read for yourself in the Daily Prophet, anyway. Look, Ron says not to do this, but it needs to be done. I’m concerned about you Harry. Your letters are so short and you never say anything more than “I’m ok.” I know you probably don’t want to talk about Sirius, Harry, but…
Harry stopped and folded up the letter. He didn’t really feel like reading it right now.
Unlike other summers he had spent at the Dursley’s, this one had brought Harry an almost continual stream of letters. Most were from his best friends, Hermione and Ron, but he would occasionally get posts from others: Ginny, Neville Longbottom, Fred and George, Lupin, and Tonks. Even Mad-Eye Moody had added a quick note at the end of Tonks’s last letter: “Keep your eyes peeled Potter. Remember, if you ever are attacked at Privet Drive, that cousin of yours would make a pretty good shield.” Harry couldn’t tell if the old auror was joking or not.
Harry was grateful for all the letters- it definitely made the summer more enjoyable, but they could only help so much. The fact remained that Harry was still stuck in Privet Drive.
Harry reached into his trunk and pulled out an old shoebox. Inside he kept every letter he had ever received from the wizarding world. He had found that rereading past letters helped him make it through the stay at Privet Drive.
As he placed Hermione’s letter on top of the stack, his eyes fell on a faded, torn letter sticking out at the bottom of the box. Harry could just make out part of the note. It was hastily written and in handwriting Harry hadn’t seen for quite some time.
It was Sirius’s.
The sorrow Harry held continually in the pit of his stomach intensified. He had forgotten that he still had Sirius’s old letters. As he looked at the letter a familiar yearning grew in him, a yearning for any memory or contact from Sirius, even if it was just an old letter written before he had been killed.
Reaching into the bottom of the box, Harry grabbed the letter and pulled it out. It was more of a short note than a letter. He had just begun to read when he heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs outside the door; someone was coming to see him. He quickly closed the box, unknowingly dropping Sirius’s note on the floor.
Knock, Knock, Knock.
The door opened and a burst of light flooded through. Harry squinted in the brightness. The tall, slender form of his aunt stood in the doorway, holding what looked like a dinner plate.
“Your uncle and I are leaving for the remainder of the day.”
Harry didn’t answer.
“I’ve brought you some dinner.”
She walked slowly into the room and set a plate of food on a desk near the door. The desk was covered with similar plates of food, none of it eaten.
She walked back to the doorway and paused again, as if considering what to say.
“Er… don’t leave the home, Harry,” Aunt Petunia said in a voice that was softer than normal, though it still retained some of her usual curtness.
It seemed to Harry that she was about to say more, but after another pause Aunt Petunia turned and walked away, shutting the door behind her.
The Dursley’s hadn’t been especially bad to Harry this summer. Indeed, it had probably been the most civil time he had ever spent with them. The few times he had seen them, Uncle Vernon and Dudley were almost nice to Harry; at least, they weren't outright jerks, which is as much as could be expected of the two. The biggest change, however, was in Aunt Petunia. She kept making strange, almost friendly gestures to Harry, like bringing food to his room and asking if he would like to watch the news. Harry found all this very awkward and preferred to simply stay in his room.
Hearing the sound of car doors opening and closing, Harry glanced out the window to see Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon drive away.
“Don’t leave the house Harry.” Aunt Petunia’s words echoed in his head. She didn’t need to tell me that, I don’t feel like going outside any more than I feel like being in here, he thought. But as he looked out the window and saw the wind blow through the trees, he decided that a walk wasn't such a bad idea. It had been a while since he had felt the wind in his face…
His mind made up, Harry threw his bedroom door open, trounced down the stairs, and walked straight out the front door.
He had to squint as he walked into the outdoor air. He hadn’t been outside for at least two weeks; the Dursley's had forbidden it. A cold blast of wind hit him in the face, blowing his hair back. Harry stopped, closed his eyes and took a deep breath: for a second it reminded him of flying…
He resumed his walk, not quite sure where he was going. It felt good just to be outside, even though it was somewhat cold. Besides, Aunt Petunia wanting him to stay inside the house seemed to be reason enough to leave.
Dumbledore wouldn’t want me out here either…said a small voice in his head, the voice he usually attributed to Hermione.
He brushed it off and kept walking.
Suddenly a yell broke out above the wind.
“Harry! Harry stop!”
Harry turned. It was Dudley. He was calling from the doorway of number 4 and began running towards Harry..
Dudley had continued to grow the past year, and was now bigger and more formidable than ever. Though not in terrific running shape, his boxing training had continued to mold and refine him. Despite the chubbiness, there was now a sort of raw athleticism to his movements, almost like a bear.
“You’re not supposed to go anywhere. Mom told me not to let you leave,” Dudley gasped between breaths. His face wore an unusual expression that Harry couldn’t quite place. It was something like a mix of anger, fear, and… concern?
“Yeah, well, I’m going, and you’re not going to stop me.” Harry turned back around and stalked off.
“Harry! Harry…please?”
“Go away Dudley!” Harry quickened his pace.
“Stop! Come on!” Dudley began to rumble after Harry again.
Harry was annoyed. Since when did Dudley care about what he did? Harry looked back at him- it was all he could do just to keep up. A cruel idea came into Harry's head.
“Well come on then, Big D! Let’s go for a walk!” Harry shouted. He smiled as he broke into a run. Dudley had always been bigger and a harder puncher, but Harry had always been faster.
When he reached the end of Privet Drive Harry took a right onto Magnolia Crescent. Houses blurred past him and he took his next left. After sprinting down that street Harry turned one more corner then stopped to catch his breath. He was on the western border of an open park.
Looking behind him for any trace of Dudley, Harry saw only open street. He had lost him.
Harry chuckled to himself and continued walking. To his right was the park; empty, swings swaying gently in the wind. A row of houses lined the street to the left. About 30 yards ahead on his right was another road that intersected with the one he was on.
Thinking he would turn down that street next, Harry looked down it and saw three figures walking along the road. They were moving slowly and kept looking around, as if they weren’t sure where they were or where to go. Two of the figures were big and clumsy, and lumbered slightly behind the third. The person in front, Harry could notice even from this distance, walked with a haughty, superior stride, as if he was disgusted by his surroundings.
Harry stopped in his tracks. He knew that swagger anywhere.
Draco Malfoy.