Disclaimer: The usual, none of the characters are mine; they were created by Ms. J.K. Rowling. The only thing I can claim to own in all this is my imagination.
The sun was slipping under the horizon, signaling the end of another day as the darkness raced to cover every square inch of land in Surrey. It was the evening of the thirtieth of July and out of window of the house at Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging; a young wizard, on the brink of his coming of age, stared out into the gathering dusk. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, had had a terrible summer. He had spent most of his waking time thinking of Dumbledore, of Snape, of Malfoy and of Voldemort. It hadn’t been too long since Snape had murdered Dumbledore right in front of Harry's eyes. He had felt the bottom fall out of his world then. It had brought home to him the realization of what he had to do and more importantly, the knowledge that he had to do it alone. He couldn't risk anyone else dying because of him.
His internal battles didn’t seem to matter to his aunt and uncle. He had told the Dursleys that he was leaving Privet Drive once and for all and so they had made a special effort to make his life a living hell, attempting, perhaps, to prove that blood was, after all, not thicker than water. Not that he cared about that anymore. He had got quite used to it. But it was a painful reminder of what he had missed all his life; a family. He looked around at the room that the Dursleys had been forced to give him, not out of compassion but rather out of fear of magical retribution for making him live in a cupboard under the stairs for eleven years. The room was unusually clean for once, mainly because there wasn't much in it. In a traveling bag in the corner were some necessities and new set of dress robes for Bill and Fleur's wedding. He had outgrown the one he had worn a little over two years previously at the Yule Ball in the fourth year.
Fourth year... it seemed like an eternity since those events had taken place. Unwillingly his mind drifted into the past. The eleven years that the Dursleys had mistreated him, and then the letter from Hogwarts that had changed his life, the letter that had told him that he was no ordinary boy, he was a wizard. That he was no ordinary wizard either was borne upon him when he had learnt that the most evil wizard of all time had murdered his parents. Harry remembered being told that his mother had tried to stand between him and the Dark Lord and had died thereby giving Harry protection from Voldemort. Unconsciously Harry's hand strayed to the lightning shaped scar on his forehead, the mark that Voldemort had given him when he had tried to kill him and failed.
Like a movie reel, the last six years at Hogwarts began to replay in his mind. His first meeting with Voldemort at the end of the first year, a Voldemort so weak that he needed to take the body of Professor Quirell just to survive. He remembered how Tom Riddle had possessed Ginny through his diary and had got her to open the Chamber of Secrets in his second year, thereby releasing the basilisk that had almost killed him. And then in his third year, Harry had finally found a father figure in Sirius Black who had been James Potter’s best friend and had been falsely accused of leading Voldemort to James and Lily. It had been Sirius who had given Harry valuable advice during the fourth year where Harry had been entered into the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Harry cringed as in his mind's eye he saw Voldemort's rebirth and Cedric’s lifeless body, murdered for no reason other than that he had been with Harry.
Harry wanted the memories to stop for he knew what was coming. But his mind was like a runaway train that was pulling Harry along much against his will. He relived the fight at the Department of Mysteries in his fifth year. He saw Sirius, hit by Bellatrix’s spell, falling backwards through the veil. The pain Harry had felt then came rolling back. He had hoped that Sirius would see him through this journey that had been forced on him; a journey that Harry had known would be extremely dangerous ever since he had heard the prophecy. One of them, Harry or Voldemort had to die.
Harry shook his head to clear it of the images that had been conjured up by his thoughts. But one remained; the memory of Dumbledore at the top of the Astronomy Tower as Snape had towered over him and had killed him. As he saw the curse hit Dumbledore's body he cried out and that shook him out of his reverie. Wearily, he checked his watch. It was five minutes to seven. Mr. Weasley was to arrive by Floo Network at seven to take him to the Burrow for the wedding. This time Harry had taken care to warn the Dursleys of Mr. Weasley’s coming, to ensure against any unfortunate occurrences. He remembered how bewildered the Weasleys had been when they had tried to enter the Dursley home the first time through the Floo Network only to find it blocked up.
Harry's eyes swept the room to see if he had missed anything. He didn’t seem to have so he picked up his bag and headed downstairs, trying to think of a good excuse for coming with such little luggage. He couldn’t possibly tell them that he had no intention of going back to Hogwarts. He had to find and destroy the remaining Horcruxes and then meet the Dark Lord for the last battle, which only one of them would survive. And he didn't intend to take Ron or Hermione with him either; he couldn't bear to think of what might happen to them just because they were with him. No, he had to do it alone and for that Harry had made meticulous preparations. He planned to leave early the morning after the wedding before anyone else woke up. He had already sent his trunk full of his spell books and his other clothes and Hedwig, his owl, to a safe place where he himself would go after leaving the Burrow.
He found the Dursleys huddled in the kitchen shooting dark looks at him.
"Don't get any ash on the carpet", roared Uncle Vernon.
Completely ignoring him, Harry headed into the hall and stood by the fireplace, waiting. At precisely seven there was a flash of light and Mr. Weasley stumbled into the hall. He shook his clothes to get rid of the ash on them then beamed at Harry and vigorously shook his hand.
"Good to see you again, Harry".
"Good to see you too, Mr. Weasley", said Harry wondering if his arm was about to come loose.
Mr. Weasley seemed to realize this and let go. He gazed around the room fascinated, for Arthur Weasley loved all the wonderful inventions that the Muggles had in their homes. "Well, you had better say goodbye to your uncle and aunt and we'll be on our way", he said absently as he looked around at the lamps and the television.
Harry nodded and stepped into the kitchen.
"Well, I'm off and I guess you think its good riddance. Well, the feeling’s mutual. Bye" Harry couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice, thinking of the past seventeen years when they had treated him more like a servant than a nephew.
“You’d think you could show us some gratitude after all we’ve done for you,” growled Uncle Vernon.
Harry glared around at the Dursleys. They seemed bent upon ruining his departure too. Uncle Vernon’s face was slowing turning purple with suppressed rage. Harry knew what was biting him, Uncle Vernon did not like the fact that Mr. Weasley was coming to his house and he absolutely hated that there was nothing he could do about it. Dudley, meanwhile, was attempting to hide his vast bulk behind his mother, which he wasn’t proving very successful at, as he was twice as wide as her. Dudley had painful memories of Fred and George Weasley who had caused his tongue to elongate the last time they had met. Though they weren’t coming this time, Dudley wasn’t taking any chances. Harry glanced at his aunt fully expecting her to be scowling at him as well. But to his surprise she wasn’t doing anything of the sort. In fact Harry thought she was looking afraid.
She hesitantly cleared her throat and said, “So once you’re gone then this house…” She didn’t complete the sentence but Harry knew what she meant. He had forgotten that the protection that Dumbledore had placed on the house would disappear the moment he turned seventeen, which was in a few hours. And once the protection was gone there was a great possibility that Voldemort might send his minions here. At an earlier time he would have said that he didn’t care, but the truth was that now he had come to this situation, he was worried. Irrespective of the fact that the Dursleys hadn’t really seemed to be too concerned about his well being, he didn’t want anything to happen to them. He decided that he would talk to Mr. Weasley about some sort of protection for the house at least till Voldemort was destroyed.
“Yes, the protection will be gone, but I’ll see what I can do about it”, mumbled Harry.
Aunt Petunia nodded, then rising suddenly from her chair she picked up a leather-bound book that was lying on the table and handed it to Harry. Harry opened it with mounting curiosity, never having expected a parting gift from them. It was a photograph album, albeit a muggle one so the pictures didn’t move. But Harry didn’t care; he was too interested by the pictures themselves. The album contained pictures of his mother, aunt Petunia and two people who he assumed were his grandparents. Harry realized with a start that he had never actually seen his grandparents before.
“They died when Lily was at Hogwarts,” said Aunt Petunia “after that, well, I tried to take care of her whenever she came home.”
Harry had got so used to saying “Aunt Petunia” mechanically that often he forgot that she was, after all, his mother’s sister. She had pretended for seventeen years that she had detested her sister Lily, but now for once, Harry tried to understand what Aunt Petunia might have gone through when she had heard of his mother’s death. He began to wonder whether she had agreed to keep him because Dumbledore had ordered her to, or whether it had been because he was the last link she had to her family; one that no longer existed. Her parents, her sister… they were all dead and now he was leaving too. He couldn’t believe it but he was actually beginning to sympathize with his aunt. Shutting the album, he looked at her, wishing he could understand her, wanting to ask a thousand questions. But it was too late.
“Thanks,” he said, stuffing the album into the bag.
He began to turn away when she said “Harry, be careful.”
He paused, unsure of what he had just heard. His mind was in a whirl and he didn’t know how to react to this sudden show of concern. However, Uncle Vernon decided to butt in at this moment sparing Harry any further discomfort. Uncle Vernon had been steadily turning purple in the background and now he looked like an overgrown grapefruit. He didn’t like this newfound understanding between aunt and nephew and he wanted to nip it in the bud.
“CAREFUL! Yes, you’d better be careful, boy. Careful never to come back to this house again,” he bellowed. Harry felt his anger rising again.
“Don’t worry, I have no reason to return,” he snapped and turning on his heel he returned to the hall in disgust.
Arthur Weasley was attempting to take Dudley's computer apart when Harry returned to the hall.
"Mr. Weasley, what are you doing?" Harry cried, shocked.
"What is this wonderful contraption, Harry?"
"It’s called a computer." He couldn't suppress a smile at the look of glee on Mr. Weasley's face.
"And what does it do?"
"Err, well lots of things. I'll tell you about it over dinner."
Mr. Weasley took the hint and returned to the fireplace and for the first time noticed that Harry had only one bag with him.
"Where's the rest of your things?” he asked, looking surprised. Harry had his story ready.
"I didn't want to carry everything for the wedding, so I thought I'd come back here after the wedding to get the rest of the stuff"', he said, casting a furtive glance towards the kitchen to see if they had heard him. Luckily they didn't seem to have and neither, apparently, had Mr. Weasley who was staring with rapt attention over Harry's shoulder. Harry turned to see what had interested him so much and noticed the pile of old plugs that Uncle Vernon had been planning on throwing away. He grinned, knowing that Mr. Weasley had a weakness for plugs and collected them as a hobby.
“You can take them if you want, Mr. Weasley", he said.
Mr. Weasley jumped. "Don't your uncle and aunt need them?"
"Oh no, they have new ones."
"Excellent, excellent, these will do nicely for my collection", said Mr. Weasley as he put the plugs into his pocket.
"Well, we'd best be going. Do you want to go first or shall I?" he asked.
"I'll follow you."
"Very well, here's the Floo Powder. See you in a minute at the Burrow", he said cheerily and vanished in a flash of light.
Harry stepped into the fireplace and took a look at the hall that he would never again see. Well, they did give me a place to stay, , he thought grudgingly as he dropped the Floo Powder and said "The Burrow" in a loud clear voice. The hall vanished and Harry saw only darkness for a moment, before tumbling out of the fireplace at the Burrow.
A/N: This is my first fanfic and as mentioned in the summary, its how I’d like events to pan out in the seventh book. Got an interesting plot lined up so watch this space.
Chow for now
Scarhead Steve.