“So you’re back, are you?” Vernon Dursley spat the moment his nephew was within hearing range. Harry sighed, taking his time as he pushed his trolley towards the fat man. His uncle seemed to be in an even fouler mood than he used to be, but maybe he was remembering the goblets that had bounced around on his head last summer, when Dumbledore had come to thankfully rescue Harry. The slight smile the memory allowed him faded at the thought of Dumbledore. It still hurt to think of him, now that he was gone.
But Vernon’s mind seemed to be on something else. His beady eyes followed the two other people behind Harry, people who seemed to be trailing Harry a little closely “
“Who’re they?” he asked, eyes guarded.
Harry turned around to look at his two companions. “Oh, these are my friends,” he said as politely as he could. “Hermione and Ron.”
Vernon’s face seemed to turn a rather unpleasant shade of purple at this introduction. “I won’t be seen consorting with any more of your people; no I won’t!” he said firmly, glaring heatedly at Harry.
However, the effect was lost on Harry, who had seen much more intimidating and horrifying things in his life. Vernon Dursley had never, for instance, met a Dementor and was forced to hear his mother’s last words over and over again. Nor had he ever felt the slimy, icy skin of Inferi clutching onto his arm, trying to drag him down to the depths, or watched in horror as a monster was reborn, saw it rise above the bubbling cauldron, its red snake-like eyes penetrating every fiber of his body “
No, Vernon Dursley was hardly terrifying.
“They’ll be staying over,” Harry informed his uncle, eyes serious and more mature than Vernon had ever seen them be. “No arguments. Just bear with us until my birthday, and we’ll be out of your hair for good. Let them stay, Uncle Vernon; it’s the least you can do.”
Vernon puffed out indignantly, insulted about his “freakish” nephew ordering him around. The nerve of that boy! “Why, you . . . ‘the least you can do?’ You ungrateful brat! You should be appreciative of all we did for you! We fed you, clothed you, gave you a roof over your head, and a bed to sleep in! You have no right to tell me “”
Ron and Hermione exchanged significant glances. So this was the infamous Vernon Dursley. They had seen the enormous man from afar “it was very hard not to notice him“ but had never before been this close. Hermione carefully watched Harry and was surprised to find her friend’s expression unreadable and fairly bored. He didn’t look angry, which was the response Hermione had been expecting out of him.
“No,” Harry interrupted firmly, eyes cold. “You fed me Dudley’s scraps, gave me his huge clothes, and forced me to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs for eleven years until magic scared you enough into actually giving me a proper bedroom.” All the while, Harry’s voice had remained calm and controlled, even when he stressed certain points. “I’ve got something to do, something that’s going to affect you whether you like it or not; it’ll determine whether or not you can still live your shallow lifestyle.
“But I can’t do it until after my birthday, and I had promised Dumbledore to endure you until then. So be my uncle for once and let them stay!”
Vernon sputtered, the large, throbbing vein in his neck threatening to burst. After some deliberation, Vernon reluctantly gestured to the trio, ordering them into the car. While they loaded their trunks into the trunk of Vernon’s car, Ron whacked Harry on the back triumphantly and whispered, “You sure showed him, mate!”
Harry grinned back. It had definitely been satisfying to fearlessly order his pompous uncle around.
The ride back to Privet Drive was awkward, especially with Vernon glancing at his rear view mirror every few minutes to check and make sure that the teens weren’t doing any “funny business.” It was a huge relief for all the occupants of the car when Vernon gruffly told them to get out. After they had gathered their trunks, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped over the threshold into the tense atmosphere of Number 4, Privet Drive.
Dudley Dursley, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but in the presence of three “freaks,” desperately tried to blend himself in with the rest of the room “a feat made in vain, for Dudley’s bulk took up about half the hallway. Petunia’s lips were pursed disapprovingly, her beady eyes icy, but Harry could have sworn he detected some flicker of nervousness in those composed eyes. To her right, Vernon placed an arm around his wife protectively, his stance defensive.
“Er . . . hello again,” Harry said uncomfortably, trying hard not to squirm under the Dursley’s intense stares.
“I won’t be feeding two extra mouths!” Petunia snapped indignantly, her chin raised arrogantly.
Ron’s mouth dropped slightly in disgust at the lack of concern for their well being. He knew Harry hated his relatives, and that they were as stupid as Muggles could be “but he had never thought they’d be this hostile.
Hermione, however, attempted to make some sort of peace with the Dursleys, being a Muggle-born herself. “Oh, you won’t have to feed us. We’ve brought some food for ourselves.”
It was true. The Grangers and Weasleys hadn’t been too supportive at first when their respective children had informed them that they’d be accompanying Harry on a very dangerous quest. Arthur and Molly Weasley had understood a bit better; it was more a matter of Mrs. Weasley being terrified that Ron and her surrogate son, Harry, would be hurt, or killed. But after a lot of convincing on Ron’s part, Mrs. Weasley had agreed that Ron should go with Harry; they could help look out for each other. Harry smirked, doubting that she would ever stopped worrying about them; which was why Ron had consented to send his mother weekly owls informing her of their progress and welfare.
Hermione’s parents had been more difficult to persuade. She was their only child, after all, and they still weren’t very familiar with the wizarding world, even after six years. Hermione told them that she would also owl them, and informed them of the dire need for them to do this, that she would be able to help keep them and the rest of the world safe.
However, that didn’t stop their parents from trying to help them in any way they could, whether it’d be advice from Mr. Weasley, or a trunk full of food from Mrs. Weasley and the Grangers.
Hermione fished around her trunk, pulling out a box of snacks her parents had sent them. “Here, would you like some? They’re perfectly healthy, sugar free “my parents are dentists, you see.”
But her last comment only seemed to infuriate the Dursleys even more. “We have your people working on our children’s teeth?” Vernon demanded, hatred laced in his voice. Dudley, however, eyed the box of treats greedily with pig-like eyes.
Looking slightly alarmed at Vernon’s outburst, Hermione quickly reassured him, “Oh, no, no, my parents are Muggles “non magic folk like you. They’re not wizards.”
However, as hard as Hermione tried to reassure them, there was no reasoning with the Dursleys. Petunia’s expression became darker, and Harry had a suspicion as to why.
“So,” Petunia sneered, her thin face contorted in disgust. “You’re like her.”
“Like who, Mrs. Dursley?” Hermione asked, scrunching her eyebrows together in confusion.
Petunia’s gaze settled on Harry. “Like my freak of a sister.”
Harry’s fists clenched tightly at this, and his knuckles began to turn white. Gritting his teeth furiously, Harry reached into his pocket for his wand, preparing to curse his aunt into oblivion. But before he could do anything, Ron, sensing Harry’s anger, had grabbed his arm, steering him towards the stairs. “C’mon,” he muttered quietly. “Don’t go having a row just yet . . . you’re supposed to stay here, remember?”
Hermione followed them, her face reflecting both repulsion at the Dursleys’ behavior and pity for their bigotry. The thump of their trunks was the only audible sound in the house, until Hermione whispered a spell to levitate their heavy burden to the top of the stairs, saving them some trouble and causing outraged gasps from the Dursleys below them.
Once they were safely within Harry’s room, Ron set down his trunk with a scowl on his face. “Your relatives are gits,” he informed Harry.
Harry had to chuckle at that. “I’d think I would have already noticed that, Ron.”
Smiling slightly, Hermione suppressed a yawn. “I’m exhausted, are you?”
“Yeah,” Harry said darkly. “Tense family reunions with people who hate you are very tiring.”
Ron exchanged a worried glance with Hermione, but silently decided not to press the matter any further. Hermione whipped out her wand and gave it a wave; instantly, two sleeping bags materialized on the floor. She beamed, proud that her non verbal spell had worked efficiently.
“You’re going to bed, er “sleeping bag?” Ron asked incredulously. “It’s four o’clock in the bloody afternoon!”
“Of course not,” Hermione denied calmly. “I’m just getting ready.”
Ron stared at Hermione as if she were some sort of foreign beast. “You’re mental.”
Harry chuckled. At least despite everything that has happened in the past six years, one thing has remained exactly the same: Ron and Hermione still bickered like an old married couple.
His two friends joined Harry on his bed as they discussed carefree subjects. Ron made fun of Harry’s cousin and proceeded to imitate Dudley trying hide from them, puffing his face out in an attempt to make it as plump as Dudley’s. Ron didn’t even come close. Harry talked about Quidditch, and Ron suggested a fly around Privet Drive. Hermione immediately shot down that idea, pointing out that this neighborhood was filled with Muggles. “Do you want to get caught?” Hermione had asked exasperatedly.
Not for the first time, Harry was immensely glad that his two best friends would be joining him. He tried to put on a brave face, and he knew it was his responsibility to find the Horcruxes and defeat Voldemort. At the same time, Harry couldn’t help but feel apprehension and fear of what was to come. In reality, this burden has been on his shoulders ever since Voldemort murdered the parents he never knew; he just found out the fine print a year ago. If he succeeded, then he was fulfilling his purpose in the Wizarding World, the job that had been unknowingly assigned to him his whole life. If he failed . . . then history would remember him as the Boy-Who-Failed, the wannabe hero who had crushed their hopes and broke whatever promise he had supposedly made when entering their world.
But most of all, he was scared of who Harry Potter would be when the battle was over. Would he be dead, just another fallen name on a gravestone, or would he be alive, but not really living? Would he cease to be the Harry Potter those at Hogwarts knew him to be, and become some kind of monster like Voldemort, or would he decline into a shell, pushing everyone he knows and loves away from him?
Would this war, his duty, break him?
Harry wasn’t afraid of backing out at the last minute. He knew that he would finish this in honor of all those who fell in the fight against Voldemort. It was the aftermath that brought chills to his spine. After all, he had faced Voldemort before, and survived. But each time, Harry felt himself change, even if a little bit, his innocence stripped away little by little.
He didn’t want to merely be the ghost of Harry Potter when it was all said and done.
Ron and Hermione had always brought out the best in him, and were the ideal people to help Harry. Professor Dumbledore had said that Harry’s greatest strength was his ability to love; he sincerely hoped that would still be there after their quest was over. Harry smiled as he recalled their discussion about Ron and Hermione coming with him. He hadn’t wanted them to come; he didn’t want them to get hurt, and because of that fear, Harry had wanted to do this alone. Nevertheless, they didn’t leave him, and Harry was grateful for that.
Not surprisingly, the Dursleys hadn’t bothered them at all, and the sky outside was soon streaked with blue and orange. Finally, they retired to their beds “or in Ron and Hermione’s case, sleeping bags“ and fell asleep.
Harry fell asleep easily, grateful for the ease of what had once been so difficult. Sighing in satisfaction, he allowed himself to become immersed in the satisfying quiet of slumber.
* * * * * * *
“Harry! Harry, wake up!”
Murmuring into his pillow, Harry just turned around and tried to block out the voice. He wasn’t ready to be awake yet. “Just a few more minutes, Hermione. . .” he muttered.
There was a slight pause before the female voice responded. “Who’s Hermione, your girlfriend?” she said teasingly.
Harry mentally rolled his eyes. Of course it was Hermione; who else could it be? It was too early in the morning and he was far too groggy to accurately place the voice, but logically, it must be his bushy haired friend. Definitely isn’t Aunt Petunia, Harry thought, smirking with amusement. And the girlfriend dig was definitely Ron’s idea “that must be why there was a pause.
“Really funny,” Harry said a little louder, making sure Ron could hear too. “Bloody hyenas, you lot are. Seriously, let me go back to sleep; don’t want to be tired when we go down and face the wrath of Dursley “”
“Dursley? You mean Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley?” Hermione asked, this time with a note of confusion.
Harry was starting to get a little annoyed. Joke’s over. “Yes, Hermione, those Dursleys.”
“Why do you keep on calling me ‘Hermione’?”
Rolling around to face her, Harry said, “Because you are “”
He stopped in mid-sentence. Harry’s tongue froze when he saw, not Hermione, but a girl with flaming red hair sitting on the edge of his bed. But what really shocked him was the fact that the girl looked so much like his mother; at least, judging from the photos he had of his parents. The only major difference that Harry could see were bright hazel eyes instead of the green he possessed.
Quickly, Harry groped behind him for his glasses and wand, only to find himself reaching in thin air.
“Looking for these?” the girl asked, holding both items in her hands. She had apparently gotten them from the bedside table . . . on the other side of where it normally was. Harry snatched both items, thrusting his glasses on and pointing his wand at the girl, who looked startled at Harry’s hostile behavior.
She didn’t look dangerous. But Harry had learned first hand not to judge a book by its cover “literally. The incident in his second year with the diary Horcrux was enough to make him wary of appearances.
“Harry, what’s wrong?” the girl asked, sounding panicked at the hard look in Harry’s eyes.
“Who’re you?” Harry growled, forgetting that he wasn’t wearing anything but boxers. He stood up so that he was in front of the girl, at an advantage in an offensive position. His thoughts wandered to Ron and Hermione. Where were they? And where was he? This was definitely not in Number Four, Privet Drive; the room was completely different! It was filled with wizard items, from Quidditch posters to a bookcase full of volumes on spells. Harry scanned the strange room with wild eyes, hoping to Merlin that his friends were okay “
The girl looked at his shirtless body with a wrinkled nose. “Put on a shirt or something, Harry! I don’t need to see all that. Hermione, maybe, but for me, that’s gross.”
“Answer the question!” Harry demanded sharply, making the girl jump.
She was starting to look a little concerned. “You really don’t know?”
Before Harry could utter another impatient demand, the door behind him swung open. Harry instinctively leaped to the side, allowing him to keep an eye on both the girl and the newcomer. But the person that strode in was the last person he’d expected. Harry had anticipated a Death Eater, Voldemort, Uncle Vernon, not “not “
Sirius Black walked in breezily, ignorant of the tension in the room. He spotted the red haired girl sitting on the bed and affectionately ruffled her hair, causing her to squeal in protest. “Uncle Sirius!” she whined indignantly, which only caused Sirius to laugh with aching familiarity.
Uncle Sirius? Part of Harry’s brain registered, but the majority of him was frozen stiff in shock, and the wind seemed to have been knocked out of him. Sir “Sirius was alive; he was here . . . it couldn’t be. The laugh was Sirius’s, the movements were Sirius’s, and the eyes were Sirius’s. Harry’s mind flashed back to that horrible day, and he felt helpless as his mind replayed the image of Sirius falling back and disappearing behind the veil, slowly and gradually.
His grip on his wand slackened, and it finally slipped through his fingers and onto the rug.
The sound turned Sirius’s attention onto Harry, whose eyes widened even more. His legs felt terribly unstable and wobbly; they were sure to collapse beneath him at any second. Oh, Merlin, what would Harry have given a year ago for something like this to happen, to see Sirius again, healthy, happy, and whole. He could feel his heart beating fast and hard against his chest, sure that the other occupants of the room could hear it clearly.
But it couldn’t be Sirius; it just couldn’t! Sirius was dead; Harry had spent so long trying to tell himself that. Why, when he had finally accepted that his beloved godfather was truly gone, would Sirius appear, when he would most likely disappear and break Harry’s heart again? He couldn’t bear it if he lost his godfather for the second time . . . especially on top of Dumbledore’s recent death by Snape’s traitorous hand. It was funny; Snape despised the Marauders, including Wormtail, but in the end, he committed the very crime that rat had done, and murdered the man had that trusted him, given him an undeserved second chance . . .
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Harry decided that this Sirius was a trick, a ploy to weaken his defenses. It was a low blow, therefore meaning it was something Voldemort might do.
“And here’s the birthday boy!” Sirius boomed as he enveloped Harry into a familiar and comforting hug. Harry told himself to push this false Sirius away, to resist the urge to cling to his godfather forever . . . but his resolve failed. He found himself welcoming Sirius’s strong arms and his familiar scent, which, not too surprisingly, always possessed a hint of dog.
Wait, ‘birthday boy’? Harry thought, But my birthday isn’t today . . .
“Better get changed, then, Harry,” Sirius said cheerfully, hitting Harry heartily on the back. “Everyone’s waiting downstairs.”
“Everyone?” Harry asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
However, the glare was missed on Sirius, who misinterpreted Harry’s question. “Oh, don’t worry, they’re not all here yet. We’re still waiting on Remus and your dad. I think he said something about getting some Firewhiskey for you “becoming a man and all, you know.” Sirius grinned at him proudly.
Harry felt his heart skip a beat at the mention of his father. Was this some kind of weird illusion where all the dead suddenly came to life again? But Harry didn’t know the red haired girl, and Remus isn’t dead “
This was just too overwhelming.
Sirius frowned when he noticed Harry’s wand on the floor. Gingerly picking it up, he handed the wand to Harry, who was still looking at Sirius in disbelief, as if he wasn’t sure if he was really there.
“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Sirius chuckled.
Harry didn’t answer. He found his eyes averting towards the red head still sitting on his bed, expecting her to say something to “Uncle Sirius” about Harry’s hostile behavior earlier. But she merely stared determinedly back at Harry and said nothing.
“Well,” Sirius said, breaking Harry’s thoughts. “We’d better get out of here and let Harry get ready.” He turned around and began to walk out, pausing at the doorway. “You coming?” he asked the girl, who nodded and, with one last worried glance at Harry, closed the door behind her.
At first, Harry merely stood there in silence before sitting heavily on the bed, the springs groaning in protest. He laid back and stared at the ceiling for a minute, wondering where the hell was he and what was he doing there. It had to be some kind of trap, what else could it possibly be? But Sirius was just so . . . Sirius that it made Harry doubt that theory. Sighing, Harry decided that he’d play along for now, do a bit of digging about this place. He opened the closet and to his surprise found a lot of clothes. Just as he finished changing, something hit him.
. . . we’re still waiting for Remus and your dad. He’d noticed it before, but with the shock of seeing Sirius, Harry hadn’t really given it as much thought as he should have. Releasing the breath he hadn’t realize he was holding, Harry realized that when he went downstairs, he would see people that he didn’t know, save for some photos and stories, people that he hasn’t seen alive in sixteen years.
Downstairs in this strange house, Lily and James Potter would be waiting for the birthday boy.