The air around the shadowy figure was stagnant and warm and seemed to have let loose little of the day’s nearly unbearable heat. With eyes as green as emeralds, the shadow watched the lonely street, his mind deep in thought. He could just imagine this same street sixteen years in the past, when a small shadow, a large shadow, and a tall shadow had delivered a baby on the doorstep of the house he currently resided in. He had been that baby; he could not remember that day, though it had marked the start of his imprisonment under the Dursleys.
Nearly five years prior he had stood at this same window, though it had been barred to prevent him from escaping. A small smile lit the corners of his mouth as he thought of the flying car that had yanked the bars away.
His eyes turned to the sky, as if he expected to see that car or some other object flying his way. Not even the ghostly owl named Hedwig flew these skies, for the shadow had sent her to deliver mail to members of the Order. Why was their carefully laid plan falling apart now? There were supposed to be several members of the Order arriving days before, but they had never showed up.
Behind him he heard a loud snore, though he didn’t need to turn around to see who was there. His two best friends, Ron and Hermione, had kept their promise to stay with him until he fulfilled his destiny.
Destiny. The word sent a shiver down his spine. He glanced at the alarm clock sitting on the stand next to his old bed, and realized that he only had fifteen more minutes before he was seventeen.
Dumbledore. Before his… Before his death, he had told the shadow that the protection that his aunt’s ‘hospitality’ had given him would be diminished when he became an adult. Wizards became adults at seventeen… He had only fifteen more minutes of protection, and then… Then he didn’t know what would happen.
Would Voldemort, the terror of the wizarding world, Apparate right in front of him and finish him off as quickly as possible? Would Death Eaters swarm from all around, the traitorous, murderous Snape in the lead? The thought of the former Potions master filled the shadow with a cold desire to destroy. How could Dumbledore ever have trusted that snake?
He glanced back at the clock. Ten minutes. His eyes still hard from the memory of the Headmaster’s death, he looked back to the silent street. Would he be ready if danger came to knock at his door? He turned away and began to pace the room, the minutes until the spell was lifted waning down like a dying candle. Seven minutes. What would Dumbledore be doing now, in his place? Six minutes. Would the Order come when the magic died and Harry was left more venerable than ever before? Five minutes. He would leave in the morning, first to a celebration of life in a marriage of one of the Weasley’s, and then in a dark voyage of death from which he had no guarantee to return. Four minutes. Why did the seconds stretch longer as the moment drew nearer? Three minutes.
He could stand it no longer. He stopped pacing and took a glance out the window. The street was still deserted. He half wished he could see giant eyes staring up at him from under a bush, not symbolizing a Grim but a determination his godfather Sirius could bring.
Two minutes. He turned away and stalked across the room. Either they had only been pretending to sleep or they had wakened, for Ron and Hermione had followed at his heels. He didn’t say a word to them “ there was a silent understanding. He wanted to go outside to meet any danger, and they would be right there, standing by him like they had promised.
One minute. Down the stairs they flew, skipping over the squeaking one, and then rushing to the door that led outside. A groan came from upstairs “ well, the shadow just didn’t care about his Uncle Vernon at the moment. There were things far more important to worry about.
Half a minute. The shadow looked down both sides of the street, though, as he had expected, they were silent and still. But he felt deep down in his skin that the instant he turned seventeen, strange things would happen. Who would come first “ the Order or the Death Eaters?
He glanced down at his watch, though he seemed to have left it upstairs. Behind him, however, a small voice whispered, “Midnight.” His strangely shaped scar burned slightly. He turned around to face Hermione, and then Ron, silently asking if each were ready, and receiving the same silent reply that they were.
Harry Potter then heard a popping sound down the street, followed by many more. Order or Death Eaters? he wondered again as he spun around to face them.