All was quiet on the little street that was Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey. It was dark outside now, so all the inhabitants were tucked up safe and warm in the confines of their almost identical houses. If you looked up and down the street you could see the flickering of television screens beyond the front windows of the thirty or so living rooms. Every other house had an upstairs light on, mostly they were from grumpy teenagers forced to remove themselves from the comfort of the sofa and the enthralling television shows to go and do their homework. Number four was no different. The curtains hadn’t yet been drawn and so the casual street observer could see that Mr. and Mrs. Dursley and their rather robust son Dudley were, like so many others, seated in their favourite chairs and glued to the television. If the back of the house could have been seen from the street then it could have been observed that the light was on in the smallest bedroom, and its occupant was leaning on the window peering desperately out into the night.
He was a rather skinny boy; looking very pale considering it was the middle of summer. He once again had the look of someone who had grown rather a lot in a short space of time, it would be a surprise if he was anything under five foot ten now. His messy black hair was standing up in all directions, as it always did, and probably always would, not that he would have it any other way. His brilliant green eyes were hidden behind the reflections from his round, black rimmed glasses. Etched into his forehead was a most unusual scar shaped like a lightening bolt. As he stood staring at the sky, contemplating his life, he had no idea that he was being watched. If he had more presence of mind he would have realised that from where he was right now he could just, through the gap in the houses, see into someone’s kitchen. A kitchen that happened to be two streets away and that housed a loveable squib known to him as Mrs. Figg.
As she stood with her steaming hot chocolate, absent mindedly stroking Mr. Tibbles, she could just make out the brooding figure of Harry James Potter looming in his bedroom window; one look at his desolate face told her what she needed to do. She went to her empty fireplace, where there was a cup with a very small amount of Floo powder and knelt as close as she could. She threw the powder into the fire where it immediately sprang into green flames, “Grimmauld Place,” she said as clearly as her voice would let her.
Upon his arrival back at number four Harry had gone straight to his room to unpack. The Dursleys had said nothing to him in the entire journey back from King’s Cross, which, in Harry’s opinion, was by far for the best. He had watched Uncle Vernon fume at the steering wheel the whole way home. Harry was thankful that it had at least saved him from suffering a long tirade of insults. Unfortunately, it gave him a chance to consider yet another long summer with what could only be described as the family from hell, with no thoughts of returning to Sirius to save him. Although, he was hoping that Moody’s warning would have some effect on the number of chores he would have to perform this summer. When they arrived homed and he had instantly headed for the staircase no one had argued but he saw his Uncle Vernon’s scarlet face shoot him a rather nasty look.
Once safe within the confines of his room, Harry heaved his trunk on to his bed, opened it and began to sort through his belongings. He dutifully hung his school robes up in the wardrobe and organised his schoolbooks in a pile on his desk. He pulled his newly regained Firebolt out of his trunk and decided that now was the perfect time to use his Broom Servicing Kit, which Hermione had bought him for his birthday almost three years ago; back before he even knew that he had a Godfather. He threw himself into cleaning his broomstick with so much intensity that he didn’t notice the sky dimming significantly outside, he only became aware of it when his Uncle’s voice bellowed up the staircase, “If you want feeding then you’d best get down here now, boy.” Harry carefully stored his now gleaming broomstick in the bottom of his wardrobe and made his way downstairs.
In the kitchen his aunt, uncle and cousin were already seated at the table and had begun eating. It appeared that Dudley’s diet was still ongoing; judging by the pitiful amount of food on the table and the way Dudley was eying up the food set out on the fourth plate. As Harry sat down at the table to eat, not one of them even dared to look at him. Dinner was eaten in complete silence, and when he was finished Harry rose from his chair and made to leave the kitchen, that was until Uncle Vernon hissed “Dishes” at him.
“Actually,” Harry replied in a kind of nonchalant voice, “I was just on my way to write a letter to my friend Mad-Eye, let him know I got here all right and so on. He’d be a bit worried if it took me too long to write to him, I’d hate to have burst in here thinking that something was wrong.” Harry knew that although Uncle Vernon didn’t recognise the name he would associate it with the horrific man with the moving eye in the station. He had been absolutely right; his uncle’s face went from crimson to a deep and violent shade of purple.
“Very well, don’t forget to mention that you’ve been fed,” he barked.
“I won’t.” Harry waited until he was safely into the hall before letting a smile sneak on to his face; good old Mad-Eye was going to make things a lot easier for him.
Once back in his room Harry realised that he had very little to occupy his time. Just the month before he’d sat his O.W.L exams and he hadn’t received his results yet, without the results he had no way of knowing what subjects he’d be taking in the coming year and therefore he had no homework to complete in time for the start of term. For the first time in his life he actually felt that this was a shame because he was in just the right mood for getting things done. He sat at his desk in a kind of trance, until a clicking noise shook him out of it. His snowy owl Hedwig was banging her beak against the bars of her cage. Harry reached over and undid the little latch that held the cage door shut, he then manoeuvred round his desk to open the window and let her out into the fresh air. He watched as her huge wings stretched out across the skyline, beating strongly, carrying her away into the distance.
He didn’t move from the window for what seemed like hours. He just stood there, with his chin resting in the palm of his hand, staring out to the sky as it continued to darken before his very eyes. He watched as birds flocked back and forth across the horizon, and bedroom lights were switched on and then off again. After some time it almost looked as though the world outside his window was a recorded video running on a loop, and he began to see the same things all over again. He sat down on the edge of his bed and realised for the first time just how tired he really was. He hadn’t slept properly for such a long time. He changed out of his clothes and decided to go to bed early. He tried to clear his mind of all the things that were swimming around in it as he lay down to rest. The moment that his head sunk into the pillow he fell into a deep sleep.
Like so many times before, Harry found himself deep in the Department of Mysteries. He watched as Sirius fell, as if in slow motion, through the veil once more. Harry felt himself calling out, moving towards his godfather, he had to save him, to stop him from falling through the veil. As he broke into a run, he felt something strike him in the back; he fell forward on to his stomach. He rolled over and looked up to see the red slit like eyes of Lord Voldemort staring down at him, “Well, well, we meet again. I have grown very tired of you. And now, Mr. Potter, it is your turn to die.” With that there was a flash of green light and Harry woke in his bed in Privet drive, only he wasn’t alone.
Sitting on the end of his bed was Remus Lupin.
A/N: Sorry the chapter was so short, but it’s just a brief lead in, I promise to bring you more next time.
Harry Potter and the Girl Who Lived by mrsgeorgeweasley
Chapter Notes: A/N: I would like to dedicate this fiction to my little sister Joanne, she has a rare chromosome disorder and all the doctors told us she would be lucky to live to the age of 10. I’m pleased to report that she’s currently a very happy and fairly healthy 17 year old. She is my inspiration, just getting up in the morning is a painful experience for her but she does it everyday and without much complaint, she’s the one who got me into Harry Potter and she is the REAL Girl Who Lived.