On a country road far away, the boy Harry Potter was still walking.
“What time is it?” he muttered. He squinted at his watch in the dimming light of dusk (It was almost seven o’clock, for everyone who wants to know). “We should be at the Burrow soon. You all right, Hedwig?” he asked the snowy owl perched on his shoulder. Hedwig hooted sleepily and gripped Harry’s robes more firmly with her sharp talons. Harry grinned.
He had left number four, Privet Drive the day after his seventeenth birthday. His Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been more than polite to him when he left, but Harry had sensed that they wanted him to get out of their lives as soon as possible. And he honestly couldn’t blame them. Everything was going wrong in the world ” peculiar murders and accidents had begun turning up, and all the Dursleys knew was that it had something to do with their nephew. Who would want to be in the middle of something so dangerous?
When Harry had left, piggish Dudley had been nowhere to be seen. Harry had assumed that he was hiding from his scary magic cousin in the house, but then he had seen Dudley cowering behind one of Aunt Petunia’s immaculately trimmed bushes. Harry had stared down at Dudley. Dudley had stared back, then jumped up and waddled away, a frightened look on his face. Harry had felt a prickle of satisfaction as he scared away the boy who’d always made his life at the Dursleys’ a living hell.
It felt great to be away from the Dursleys and not just at school. Harry felt immense freedom out here. The only thing he needed now was for Voldemort to be dead and buried; an Apparition license; and Ron and Hermione and Ginny with him. A tall order, to be sure, but Harry felt quite optimistic, walking along the deserted road.
Of course, it hadn’t even been easy getting to where he was now. Harry had been unable to contact the Weasleys during the whole summer, except for the one letter he’d gotten from Ron. Even that had been very obscure and difficult to understand. But there was a good reason for that: no one knew whether letters were getting through (without being intercepted) or not. Fear of Voldemort and his Death Eaters was everywhere.
The letter had only told Harry that the Weasleys couldn’t get him to the Burrow for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and that Apparition or hitchhiking were the only solutions for Harry’s transportation problem. It also said that Hermione was already there, and that the whole family, especially Ginny, was looking forward to seeing him. A complete waste of parchment, in Harry’s opinion, but the part about Ginny had warmed his insides like a mug of butterbeer.
Harry hadn’t even bothered asking Uncle Vernon for a ride to the Weasleys’. He knew the answer he would get. Just asking him for provisions for the road had been bad enough.
Harry had asked for some food and extra clothing, as he’d had no idea how long he would take in getting to the Burrow. After much ranting, raving, and cursing about “wasting our supplies” and “if those freakish friends of yours like you so much, why can’t they send you things and save us the extra expenses?” Uncle Vernon had given in and let Harry take some supplies. “No more than you need, mind!” he had roared. In a fit of conscience, Aunt Petunia had even given Harry an old, torn-up backpack that had once belonged to Dudley.
Harry had magically expanded the inside of the backpack so he could fit all his belongings into it. It had been quite a stretch trying to fit in his Firebolt broomstick, but in the end he’d managed it. He had only needed to leave Hedwig’s cage behind.
Harry had gotten rides from a few different cars, but none of them had had any idea where the Burrow was. So, after a ride with a family of four who had eyed Hedwig warily, Harry had started walking. And walking. And walking. Harry guessed he had been walking for about two or three days. His legs were tired and felt weak. But by his calculations, he and Hedwig would reach the Burrow in just another hour or so of heavy walking. Harry envied Hedwig. He would have ridden his broom, but the chances were too risky that he would be spotted. He didn’t want to attract the attention of the wrong people.
As it was, Harry wasn’t completely sure that he wasn’t being followed. Several times, he had been sure he’d heard some rustling in the bushes by the side of the road. He had spun around only to see that there wasn’t anybody there.
The boy had gotten extremely jumpy. And paranoid. Every time he heard a noise, even the wind, he jumped and quickly drew his wand. All he wanted to do now was to get off this road and arrive at the Weasleys’ home.
An uneventful hour passed. Harry still couldn’t see any sign of the Burrow. After another half-hour of walking, Harry began to panic. Taking out his wand, he did a Four-Point Spell to make sure he was heading in the right direction. He was, but ten minutes later, the house still wasn’t there.
Suddenly, the odd, crooked spires of the Burrow came into view in the distance. The rest of the house was obscured by a thick fog. Harry hurried towards it, relieved. He didn’t want to be on the eerie, deserted road a second longer than was necessary.
As he got closer to the Weasleys’ home, Harry noticed a peculiar smell in the air... smoke! He took a closer look at the house and saw that it was on fire! What’s going on?
Harry started running, but when he got closer to the burning house, something felt wrong. He reached the fence surrounding the Burrow... and stopped dead in his tracks. The fence’s gate had been shattered and was lying on the ground. Harry’s worst suspicions were confirmed. Something was very wrong.
He looked up. Later he wasn’t able to say what exactly made him look up, but he did... and gasped. “No... Please, no...”
Hanging above the Burrow was an image of a huge, glowing skull. A snake protruded from the skull’s mouth. “No...” Harry whispered with horror.
The Dark Mark.