In the days that followed Remus’ visit it was a significantly calmer Harry Potter that occupied the smallest bedroom of number four Privet Drive. All the anger and frustration that had built up inside him since the events in the Department of Mysteries seemed to have, like his tears, washed away. When he arose the first morning after his talk with Remus he had gone straight to his quill and parchment. He had written long, sorrowful letters to Ron and Hermione to apologise for his behaviour in the last weeks of term, and explaining that he hoped they would forgive him for his terrible mistakes. Both of them had written back almost instantly saying that they wouldn’t forgive him because he had nothing to apologise for in the first place. His friend’s reactions had warmed Harry’s heart beyond words and he realised how lucky he was to have Ron and Hermione as his best friends.
Harry’s delight was such that even life with the Dursleys couldn’t get to him. Uncle Vernon’s new Anti-Harry tactic was to pretend he wasn’t there. This annoyed Dudley more than anything else. Uncle Vernon’s verbal abuse of Harry had always been Dudley’s favourite form of entertainment, and without it he looked rather like he’d been smacked in the face with a wet kipper; an expression that gave Harry a deep sense of gratification. Harry was no longer forced into doing chores, and Aunt Petunia’s fear of him and his wizard friends coerced her into talking to him in what could be considered a civilized manner. All in all Harry liked this approach, it was best for none but him, it allowed him to wander freely around the house and garden without so much as a nasty comment or a sly look. Just when he was beginning to get comfortable with being back at Privet Drive, there came along a bomb to blow his quiet existence apart.
It came just as they were finishing up dinner almost a week into the holiday. Dudley had his kitchen television on as usual and he thumped his fist on the table with anger when the boxing match that he was watching was interrupted by a news bulletin.
“Shocking news just in. This evening four people were found dead in Little Whinging, Surrey. Police are completely mystified as there are absolutely no clues as to who committed the crime, what motive they had or even how the victims died. A next door neighbour called in to see the Jenkins family of thirty-six Drake Avenue, Little Whinging, shortly before four o’clock this evening to find their front door ajar and all four Jenkins; William, Jemima and their daughters Hannah and Charlotte, dead. According to the neighbour they wore looks of utter terror. Whilst green smoke hovered in the air outside, some unconfirmed reports state that the smoke had been forming a large green skull in mid-air. Many people will remember that two years ago an elderly man was found in a similar fashion in Little Hangleton and older viewers may remember a similar story from almost fifty years ago when the Riddle family were found in the same place and according to the coroners report into their deaths all three were in perfect health, except for the fact that they were dead, and wearing what was described by the coroner as ‘looks of complete terror on their faces’. As yet the perpetrators of both of those crimes have gone unidentified and unpunished. We’ll update you with more details on this latest tragedy as soon as we have them.”
Harry focused in on the small screen. Death Eaters in Little Whinging. Drake Avenue, that was less than ten minutes walk from the house he stood in. Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters could be stood on the doorstep right now. Harry’s whirring thoughts had retreated into his mind so far that he didn’t notice that his Aunt Petunia was staring at him with her mouth open. “It’s him, isn’t it?” Harry snapped out of his daze and looked at the woman in front of him more closely.
“Pardon?”
“It’s him, isn’t it? Voldemort.” Harry could not believe it; his Aunt Petunia had just said the name of the most feared wizard in the world and hadn’t even flinched.
“Yes, him and his Death Eaters.”
“Petunia, how did you know that it was his kind?” Uncle Vernon shoved his thumb in Harry’s direction and was now staring at his wife with a look of disbelief on his face.
“The look of terror, it comes from a Killing Curse.” She looked down at her hands, “I remember the last time that Lily came home to my mother’s just before she died. So many people were being murdered and I heard her telling mother all about it. Someone that she knew had been killed using it; she said it was a horrible thing to see. I think, if I remember correctly, it was the curse used to kill her.” A look of sorrow spread across her face and almost at once it was noticeable that Harry was looking at his mother’s sister. Harry had never really heard anyone talk about his mother’s death in great detail, he himself heard the fateful moment whenever dementors soared near but it felt entirely out of the ordinary to be sitting in the pristine kitchen of number four listening to Aunt Petunia recall her sister with any emotion that wasn’t hatred.
Unexpectedly, Harry heard the creaking of floorboards above him. The four of them looked at the ceiling, Aunt Petunia gasping slightly. His first reaction was to reach for his wand. “Stay here, if you hear any shouting leave the house immediately,” he whispered to Uncle Vernon as he tiptoed past him. He clenched his fist around his trusted wooden friend and held it high as he stepped out into the almost pitch black hallway.
He took the stairs two at a time, avoiding all the ones that creaked, he didn’t want whoever was moving around the upstairs of the house to know that he was coming, he wanted that advantage. He moved towards his bedroom door, which was open, a sliver of golden light snaked its way across the landing and he could hear the babble of voices within. As slowly and quietly as he could he edged one eye into the gap between the door and its frame. Packed into his tiny room were several people, he grasped his wand tightly and reached for the door…
“There is no need for your wand, Harry.” He didn’t need the wand light that struck up to know that the voice behind him belonged to his headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.
“Sir, I thought…with the attack earlier...” Harry stopped stuttering as Dumbledore raised his hand.
“I spoke to your Aunt moments ago and she explained that you had come to investigate the sudden noise, but I think you will find that it was merely half a dozen Order members Apparating here to retrieve you. I’m sure that you heard about the events of this evening, it is obvious that Little Whinging is no longer safe. You must return to headquarters.”
As Dumbledore finished the bedroom door was pulled open and there stood Remus, behind him were Arthur Weasley, Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Nymphadora Tonks and another woman, well girl really, she couldn’t have been much older than Harry himself.
The first thought that came to mind was how pretty she was. She had long flowing auburn hair, a slightly round face and a nose that Harry recognised but couldn’t place. He would have bet all the gold in his Gringotts vault that she would have had a lovely smile but currently her face was ridden with anxiety, a look of relief swept across her face as she saw him.
“Ah, Harry, I don’t believe you’ve met the newest member of the Order of the Phoenix, may I present to you Ms. Elizabeth Dumbledore, my granddaughter.” The girl nodded in recognition. Harry played the words over and over again in his head, Dumbledore’s granddaughter, he didn’t even know that he was married let alone had children or grandchildren. It struck Harry how little he knew about his headmaster. “I’m afraid the introduction must be short we have to return to headquarters immediately.” With a wave of his wand Dumbledore made all of Harry’s belongings zoom from their positions and fold themselves neatly into his trunk, which promptly locked itself. “Remus, if you would be so kind as to grab one end of Harry’s trunk we shall be off.”
As Remus grabbed a hold of Harry’s trunk the headmaster pulled a large cup from his robes while everyone shuffled forward to get a finger on it. Seconds before Harry felt that familiar tugging behind his navel he looked up to see Ms. Dumbledore gazing at him with an unreadable expression on her face. Then before he knew it he was landing with a thud in the basement kitchen of number twelve Grimmauld Place.