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Chapter Three – Privet Drive

Harry paced in his room at number four, Privet Drive.  He wished he were anywhere else, and cursed the Order for the dozenth time for making him return here for the summer.  Unlike previous summers, Harry was not moping about counting the moments until his return to Hogwarts.  Indeed, he doubted he would ever walk the halls of Hogwarts again. Not as a student, at any rate.

A clatter from below made him pause and his heart leaped into his throat.  The attack was not supposed to come until tomorrow, but they could not exactly rely on a message from an unidentified do-gooder.

He heard Tonks’s voice and relaxed. She had dropped something.  Of course, it wouldn’t be Tonks if she didn’t drop something every six minutes.  She was pretending to be Aunt Petunia, but if she pretended much longer, the Dursleys would not have a house to return to.  They had forbidden her to attempt Muggle cookery.  Sturgis Podmore had taken Polyjuice to alter his shape to that of Vernon’s, and now he sat on the couch watching the telly.  Harry was keeping to his room, maintaining the illusion of normalcy.

Harry wished the mysterious note writer had left some specifics.  The Order had smuggled the Dursleys out by Apparition—quite an entertaining spectacle in itself, Harry recalled with a grin, leaving Moody and Tonks in their place.  They hadn’t bothered to replace Dudley, knowing his absence could easily be explained, and figuring the Death Eaters would not be concentrating on Harry’s cousin.

Sturgis would pretend to wake up late in the morning while Tonks rose early and shuffled around in the kitchen.  The Dursley’s usual Saturday routine would be maintained, even though no one in the Order expected the attack to happen at the Dursley’s house—Voldemort knew the Order watched it closely, so it only made sense that the Dursleys were most vulnerable away from number four, Privet Drive.

So far, Mad-Eye Moody had been the most suspicious, claiming that the whole thing was a trick to get them to remove Harry from his only protection.  There had been nearly an hour of wrangling over that situation, until Harry had finally snarled that he would remain in the house, no matter what.  He would hide in the cupboard under the stairs with Hestia Jones, and she would Apparate him out only if the attack turned out to be valid.

Harry did not particularly care to remain at number four, Privet Drive despite how “safe” he supposedly was there.  That safety net would only be in place until July 31st.  That was the day his protection ended—the day Harry became an adult in the wizarding world.  Frankly, he could hardly wait.  He was sick to death of being protected.

Harry had been thrust upon the Dursleys as an infant for his own protection.  He had been kept in the dark about his parents and his abilities for his own protection. He had been ignored by Dumbledore for nearly a year for his own protection. He had been forced to learn Occlumency from the traitorous Snape for his own protection. He had not been told about the Prophecy or Horcruxes for his own protection.

If only he’d known sooner. If Harry had known what kept bringing Voldemort back, he’d have gone after the Horcruxes years ago. Of course, Dumbledore had known, and had kept it from Harry for his own protection.

Harry sighed and returned to his desk to finish the letter he’d drafted to Lupin.
The Order members treated Harry differently since Dumbledore’s death. No more was Harry the helpless little child that needed to be shielded. They all knew it was Harry’s head on the chopping block, and without Dumbledore to save him. They now had a tendency to treat Harry like he was a walking dead man.

The letter finished, Harry walked to the window and looked out. The Order still took his protection seriously. He could see a shadowy shape on the other side of the street; probably Arabella Figg.  The poor woman made about thirty inconspicuous trips to the market daily.  Mundungus Fletcher had been banned from Harry Protection Duty, but Harry knew more than one of the others was out there, somewhere. Either McGonagall, or Moody, or Kingsley Shacklebolt.  Hermione had left about twenty minutes ago, heading back to number twelve, Grimmauld Place.  Harry would have sent the letter with her, but he had forgotten it in the excitement surrounding the note.

Lupin was keeping Harry posted about the status of Hogwarts. It was still unclear whether or not the school would reopen. Not that it really mattered to Harry.  Harry had been inside his room for nearly three weeks, coming out only for meals. He sent Hedwig off nightly, bound for Lupin or Hermione or Mr. Weasley. The Dursleys seemed to have noticed a change in Harry. Whenever Vernon began to bellow or bluster, the ice-cold disregard in Harry’s eyes would generally cause his uncle to trail off into silence. The few times Vernon steadfastly maintained a full head of steam, Harry had stalked off to his room and slammed the door mid-sentence. It was the Dursleys turn to watch the clocks—to tick off the moments until Harry was gone for good.

Thankfully, Harry was not cut off from the Order of the Phoenix, as he had been the previous summer. Hermione had devised an elaborate code for their messages based on Muggle cryptology. Even if their letters were intercepted, the messages would make no sense without translation.

There had been little to report. Azkaban was empty due to the complete desertion of the dementors. The Ministry had their hands full trying to locate the creatures and prevent attacks, but so far no one had figured out a way to capture one. Werewolf attacks were more frequent and a motley pack of the creatures had been spotted near Dover.  Many Muggles had been killed in the area and Muggle authorities searched in vain for a roving pack of “wild dogs.” Harry could sense Lupin’s distress when he read that particular message.

The Order was still encamped at twelve, Grimmauld Place, although there was some discussion about security, since Snape knew the location.  He would not be able to disclose it, but he could enter at any time. Mad-Eye Moody had devised some Snape- specific booby-traps with the assistance of Fred and George Weasley, since tricks and traps were their area of expertise.

Harry had spent much of the summer lying on his bed thinking about Horcruxes. There were so many unknowns! If only Dumbledore hadn’t been so bloody secretive.  Apparently, the only other person he’d even told about Horcruxes had been Severus Snape.  Great choice, there!  Harry felt guilty for maligning the Headmaster, but he was still frustrated. He felt like he was groping in the dark for answers when he didn’t even know what questions to ask.

Hermione was trying.  There were dozens of obscure tomes at Grimmald Place, full of dark magic and darker ideologies, but so far she had only found a single reference to a Horcrux, which had been a simple explanation of its purpose. There was no word as to their creation or destruction. Harry recalled Dumbledore’s withered hand.  It had been difficult enough obtaining the fake-Horcrux from the cave—if it had been real, Harry had no idea how he would have destroyed it.

Hermione’s ideas were becoming crazier, a sure sign that she was getting desperate. She had even suggested a trip to Durmstrang to take a look at the books in the Restricted section of their library.  Harry hoped to save that as a last resort. He first intended to return to Hogwarts and use Dumbledore’s Pensieve.  Harry hoped the Headmaster had stored something relevant to the Horcrux search. Harry wished he had thought of it before leaving Hogwarts, but the shock and grief of Dumbledore’s loss had crowded out rational thought.

Tired now, Harry attached the letter to Hedwig’s leg and sent her out the window.  It was a beautiful summer night.  Normally Dudley was out enjoying it with his nasty gang, and would have been still, even though it was after midnight.  His cousin was probably whining pitifully wherever he had gone.  Regardless, Harry bet Diddykins avoided all dark alleyways these days.

Dobby popped into the room suddenly, startling Harry.  Important messages were sent via the house-elf, after it had belatedly occurred to Harry to request his services.  Lupin had concurred, and had gone so far as to make Dobby an honorary member of the Order of the Phoenix.  He had presented the house-elf with a pair of socks embroidered with a phoenix crest.  Dobby ecstatically wore them at all times.

“Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby said in a stage whisper. He now took secrecy very seriously.

“What is it, Dobby?” Harry asked, hoping it was not bad news.

Dobby wrung his hands, generally a warning sign that Dobby was about to inflict a severe injury upon himself. “Do not hurt yourself, Dobby, just tell me.”

“Harry Potter told Dobby to keep an eye on Kreacher,” Dobby said slowly.  He grabbed both his long ears and tugged at them with his hands, hard.

“Yes?”

“Kreacher has disappeared, Harry Potter, and Dobby cannot find him!”  Dobby wailed softly and hurried over to slam his forehead repeatedly against Harry’s bedpost.

Harry grabbed him.

“Stop it, Dobby!”  When he was sure Dobby was not going to repeat the torment, he called, “Kreacher? Kreacher, come here!”

They waited breathlessly, but the Blacks’ former house-elf did not appear.

“Oh, the shame, the shame!” Dobby wailed. “Kreacher had better be a dead house-elf or Kreacher will not be able to show his face again! To break faith with his master—Dobby knows, but Dobby’s masters were very bad wicked wizards!  Harry Potter is the greatest, most noble wizard ever to live! Kreacher should feed himself to a nundu!”

Harry sighed.  “Don’t worry about it, Dobby. Kreacher has likely gone to join Bellatrix LeStrange.  I’m sure he thinks of her as his true mistress.  I’m not  surprised.”

To be honest, it was something of a relief to be rid of the useless house-elf that had been partially responsible for the death of Sirius. Despite Hermione’s admonitions, Harry usually wanted only to wring Kreacher’s neck.  The wretched house-elf had been orderedto keep an eye on Draco Malfoy last year.  Kreacher had likely kept an eye on him while repairing the Vanishing Cabinet for Draco’s use.

“You should get back, Dobby. Nothing will happen here, but the Order might need you.”  Of course, that was not exactly true, but Dobby had a tendency to be more of a hindrance than help.

“Very well, Harry Potter,” Dobby said softly and disappeared.  Harry sprawled on his bed.  Just another complication in my convoluted life, he thought.

Description
Chapter Three – Privet Drive

Harry paced in his room at number four, Privet Drive.  He wished he were anywhere else, and cursed the Order for the dozenth time for making him return here for the summer.  Unlike previous summers, Harry was not moping about counting the moments until his return to Hogwarts.  Indeed, he doubted he would ever walk the halls of Hogwarts again. Not as a student, at any rate.

A clatter from below made him pause and his heart leaped into his throat.  The attack was not supposed to come until tomorrow, but they could not exactly rely on a message from an unidentified do-gooder.

He heard Tonks’s voice and relaxed. She had dropped something.  Of course, it wouldn’t be Tonks if she didn’t drop something every six minutes.  She was pretending to be Aunt Petunia, but if she pretended much longer, the Dursleys would not have a house to return to.  They had forbidden her to attempt Muggle cookery.  Sturgis Podmore had taken Polyjuice to alter his shape to that of Vernon’s, and now he sat on the couch watching the telly.  Harry was keeping to his room, maintaining the illusion of normalcy.

Harry wished the mysterious note writer had left some specifics.  The Order had smuggled the Dursleys out by Apparition—quite an entertaining spectacle in itself, Harry recalled with a grin, leaving Moody and Tonks in their place.  They hadn’t bothered to replace Dudley, knowing his absence could easily be explained, and figuring the Death Eaters would not be concentrating on Harry’s cousin.

Sturgis would pretend to wake up late in the morning while Tonks rose early and shuffled around in the kitchen.  The Dursley’s usual Saturday routine would be maintained, even though no one in the Order expected the attack to happen at the Dursley’s house—Voldemort knew the Order watched it closely, so it only made sense that the Dursleys were most vulnerable away from number four, Privet Drive.

So far, Mad-Eye Moody had been the most suspicious, claiming that the whole thing was a trick to get them to remove Harry from his only protection.  There had been nearly an hour of wrangling over that situation, until Harry had finally snarled that he would remain in the house, no matter what.  He would hide in the cupboard under the stairs with Hestia Jones, and she would Apparate him out only if the attack turned out to be valid.

Harry did not particularly care to remain at number four, Privet Drive despite how “safe” he supposedly was there.  That safety net would only be in place until July 31st.  That was the day his protection ended—the day Harry became an adult in the wizarding world.  Frankly, he could hardly wait.  He was sick to death of being protected.

Harry had been thrust upon the Dursleys as an infant for his own protection.  He had been kept in the dark about his parents and his abilities for his own protection. He had been ignored by Dumbledore for nearly a year for his own protection. He had been forced to learn Occlumency from the traitorous Snape for his own protection. He had not been told about the Prophecy or Horcruxes for his own protection.

If only he’d known sooner. If Harry had known what kept bringing Voldemort back, he’d have gone after the Horcruxes years ago. Of course, Dumbledore had known, and had kept it from Harry for his own protection.

Harry sighed and returned to his desk to finish the letter he’d drafted to Lupin.
The Order members treated Harry differently since Dumbledore’s death. No more was Harry the helpless little child that needed to be shielded. They all knew it was Harry’s head on the chopping block, and without Dumbledore to save him. They now had a tendency to treat Harry like he was a walking dead man.

The letter finished, Harry walked to the window and looked out. The Order still took his protection seriously. He could see a shadowy shape on the other side of the street; probably Arabella Figg.  The poor woman made about thirty inconspicuous trips to the market daily.  Mundungus Fletcher had been banned from Harry Protection Duty, but Harry knew more than one of the others was out there, somewhere. Either McGonagall, or Moody, or Kingsley Shacklebolt.  Hermione had left about twenty minutes ago, heading back to number twelve, Grimmauld Place.  Harry would have sent the letter with her, but he had forgotten it in the excitement surrounding the note.

Lupin was keeping Harry posted about the status of Hogwarts. It was still unclear whether or not the school would reopen. Not that it really mattered to Harry.  Harry had been inside his room for nearly three weeks, coming out only for meals. He sent Hedwig off nightly, bound for Lupin or Hermione or Mr. Weasley. The Dursleys seemed to have noticed a change in Harry. Whenever Vernon began to bellow or bluster, the ice-cold disregard in Harry’s eyes would generally cause his uncle to trail off into silence. The few times Vernon steadfastly maintained a full head of steam, Harry had stalked off to his room and slammed the door mid-sentence. It was the Dursleys turn to watch the clocks—to tick off the moments until Harry was gone for good.

Thankfully, Harry was not cut off from the Order of the Phoenix, as he had been the previous summer. Hermione had devised an elaborate code for their messages based on Muggle cryptology. Even if their letters were intercepted, the messages would make no sense without translation.

There had been little to report. Azkaban was empty due to the complete desertion of the dementors. The Ministry had their hands full trying to locate the creatures and prevent attacks, but so far no one had figured out a way to capture one. Werewolf attacks were more frequent and a motley pack of the creatures had been spotted near Dover.  Many Muggles had been killed in the area and Muggle authorities searched in vain for a roving pack of “wild dogs.” Harry could sense Lupin’s distress when he read that particular message.

The Order was still encamped at twelve, Grimmauld Place, although there was some discussion about security, since Snape knew the location.  He would not be able to disclose it, but he could enter at any time. Mad-Eye Moody had devised some Snape- specific booby-traps with the assistance of Fred and George Weasley, since tricks and traps were their area of expertise.

Harry had spent much of the summer lying on his bed thinking about Horcruxes. There were so many unknowns! If only Dumbledore hadn’t been so bloody secretive.  Apparently, the only other person he’d even told about Horcruxes had been Severus Snape.  Great choice, there!  Harry felt guilty for maligning the Headmaster, but he was still frustrated. He felt like he was groping in the dark for answers when he didn’t even know what questions to ask.

Hermione was trying.  There were dozens of obscure tomes at Grimmald Place, full of dark magic and darker ideologies, but so far she had only found a single reference to a Horcrux, which had been a simple explanation of its purpose. There was no word as to their creation or destruction. Harry recalled Dumbledore’s withered hand.  It had been difficult enough obtaining the fake-Horcrux from the cave—if it had been real, Harry had no idea how he would have destroyed it.

Hermione’s ideas were becoming crazier, a sure sign that she was getting desperate. She had even suggested a trip to Durmstrang to take a look at the books in the Restricted section of their library.  Harry hoped to save that as a last resort. He first intended to return to Hogwarts and use Dumbledore’s Pensieve.  Harry hoped the Headmaster had stored something relevant to the Horcrux search. Harry wished he had thought of it before leaving Hogwarts, but the shock and grief of Dumbledore’s loss had crowded out rational thought.

Tired now, Harry attached the letter to Hedwig’s leg and sent her out the window.  It was a beautiful summer night.  Normally Dudley was out enjoying it with his nasty gang, and would have been still, even though it was after midnight.  His cousin was probably whining pitifully wherever he had gone.  Regardless, Harry bet Diddykins avoided all dark alleyways these days.

Dobby popped into the room suddenly, startling Harry.  Important messages were sent via the house-elf, after it had belatedly occurred to Harry to request his services.  Lupin had concurred, and had gone so far as to make Dobby an honorary member of the Order of the Phoenix.  He had presented the house-elf with a pair of socks embroidered with a phoenix crest.  Dobby ecstatically wore them at all times.

“Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby said in a stage whisper. He now took secrecy very seriously.

“What is it, Dobby?” Harry asked, hoping it was not bad news.

Dobby wrung his hands, generally a warning sign that Dobby was about to inflict a severe injury upon himself. “Do not hurt yourself, Dobby, just tell me.”

“Harry Potter told Dobby to keep an eye on Kreacher,” Dobby said slowly.  He grabbed both his long ears and tugged at them with his hands, hard.

“Yes?”

“Kreacher has disappeared, Harry Potter, and Dobby cannot find him!”  Dobby wailed softly and hurried over to slam his forehead repeatedly against Harry’s bedpost.

Harry grabbed him.

“Stop it, Dobby!”  When he was sure Dobby was not going to repeat the torment, he called, “Kreacher? Kreacher, come here!”

They waited breathlessly, but the Blacks’ former house-elf did not appear.

“Oh, the shame, the shame!” Dobby wailed. “Kreacher had better be a dead house-elf or Kreacher will not be able to show his face again! To break faith with his master—Dobby knows, but Dobby’s masters were very bad wicked wizards!  Harry Potter is the greatest, most noble wizard ever to live! Kreacher should feed himself to a nundu!”

Harry sighed.  “Don’t worry about it, Dobby. Kreacher has likely gone to join Bellatrix LeStrange.  I’m sure he thinks of her as his true mistress.  I’m not  surprised.”

To be honest, it was something of a relief to be rid of the useless house-elf that had been partially responsible for the death of Sirius. Despite Hermione’s admonitions, Harry usually wanted only to wring Kreacher’s neck.  The wretched house-elf had been orderedto keep an eye on Draco Malfoy last year.  Kreacher had likely kept an eye on him while repairing the Vanishing Cabinet for Draco’s use.

“You should get back, Dobby. Nothing will happen here, but the Order might need you.”  Of course, that was not exactly true, but Dobby had a tendency to be more of a hindrance than help.

“Very well, Harry Potter,” Dobby said softly and disappeared.  Harry sprawled on his bed.  Just another complication in my convoluted life, he thought.