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Seven O’clock. Privet Drive.
Harry awoke with a jolt, a dream fading too quickly to remember. The morning sun was streaming into his room through the gaps in the curtains, etching strange patterns on the walls. Reluctantly, he pulled himself up and started to get dressed, and as he did, he noticed that the bruise on his arm was still far from healing. He carefully inspected it from all angles in the mirror. The vivid yellow-purple was still there, and worst of all “ the shape of his Uncle’s hand was still clearly visible. Harry sat back down on his bed. He looked out of the window, and sought through his mind in vain to seek a way out of his present situation. Nothing came. He leant against the wall, and tried to think.
Eight O’clock. Grimmauld Place.
Ginny sat alone on the windowsill of her bedroom at Grimmauld Place. It was a nice position to be in, provided she kept a firm grip on the edge of the sill “ and a sharp ear out for her mother. She was mostly protected from the elements by the guttering a foot or so above her head, and her bare feet swung gently over the dizzying two-storey drop. She liked to sit here, in the early morning sun. She could think.
Nine O’clock. Privet Drive.
Harry could hear his aunt and cousin moving about downstairs but did not join them, although his stomach rumbled for food. He wondered if they would notice that he had missed breakfast, but immediately dismissed the notion. None of the Dursleys would notice, let alone care. He turned over so that his back was to the door and tried to think of something else. Oddly enough, the first person to appear in his mind was Ginny. Her straight, Gryffindor-red-and-gold hair; her sharp, inquisitive eyes; the way she tossed her head when she was annoyed; the irritated frown that controlled her face when her brothers got too overprotective; the way he felt when they - he snapped away from that train of thought. She wasn’t his girlfriend anymore, he shouldn’t be thinking like that.
Ten O’clock. Grimmauld Place.
A slight breeze ruffled its fingers through Ginny’s hair, and she tossed her head to keep it out of her eyes. Her wandering thoughts landed on the inevitable “ Harry. She smiled sadly to herself, thinking of the way he would ask if she was busy when she was overloaded with school work, and the way that, when she told him “ rather huffily “ that yes, she was, he would look at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief and she would be able to go and forget about the worries of the world for an hour or so.
If only she could do that now.
Eleven O’clock. Privet Drive.
Memories and thoughts were spinning around Harry’s head. Dumbledore, begging for death. Sirius, giving Harry the package containing the mirror. The ghostly image of Sybil Trelawney speaking the words of the prophecy. Ginny’s expression when he told her that they couldn’t be together anymore. The younger Slughorn, telling Tom Riddle what a Horcrux was. So many images, whirling around and around in an endless cycle. So many images, that Harry’s head was beginning to ache. He pushed himself off the bed, stomach grumbling, thinking of getting something to eat.
Twelve O’clock. Grimmauld Place
“And we need to work out what we’re going to do about Hogwarts,” Hermione had said, “…we’re going to have to have a really good alibi for not being there…” Not being there? Ginny had known that Harry had things to do, but she had never considered that he, or the others for that matter, would leave Hogwarts behind. She realized now how naïve she had been. If they were to make any kind of difference, they wouldn’t be able to do so from within the increasingly watched walls of the castle. She mentally cursed. It would make things so much harder. She had known that they would never tell her what they were doing, but she had hoped that being in the same castle for nine or ten months would allow her enough eavesdropping opportunities to work it out for herself. And then what? she asked herself. Confront them with the information, and hope they weren’t too angry? Confront them with the information, and beg to be allowed to help? She snorted. Pathetic. But what, then? Her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts.
“Ginny! Lunch!”
One O’clock. Privet Drive.
Harry sat alone in his room, picking at the remnants of the cheese sandwich he had had. Suddenly, a wave of restlessness swept over him. He needed to go somewhere, do something…
He grabbed a jacket, stepped into his trainers, walked downstairs and slammed the door behind him, leaving the sandwich untouched on the windowsill.
Two O’clock. Grimmauld Place.
After lunch, and tidying the kitchen with her mother, Ginny went back to her windowsill perch, and tried to recall more of the conversation between Harry, Ron and Hermione that she had listened to yesterday.
Three O’clock. Privet Drive.
Harry sweated under the mid-afternoon sun. What am I doing?
The sweat trickled across the back of his neck as he reached the top of the road. He stopped, and, gasping for breath, collapsed onto the bench. As the rapid beating of his heart began to slow, he watched the main-road traffic speed past him.
Four O’clock. Grimmauld Place.
Horcruxes. Where had she heard that word before? Ginny wasn’t sure. She watched a small bird fly across the square, and then back again, before she remembered. Of course!
Towards the end of her fifth year, she had been walking back up to her dormitory after finally giving up on a charms essay for the night. As she had crossed the near-empty common room, she had overheard part of Harry, Ron and Hermione’s quiet discussion. Ron had been speaking, joking.
“Hey, I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we just walk up to him and ask. That’d be a fun meeting “ hey, 'scuse us, d’you mind telling us where to find the rest of your Horcruxes, ‘cos we’d like to destroy them!” They had been speaking in whispers and murmurs, so Ron’s sarcastic comment had seemed particularly loud. It had drawn a reluctant smirk from Harry, and Hermione had seemed torn between amusement and annoyance.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron “” but there Harry had quickly interrupted.
“Hi, Ginny.”
Immediately, the other two looked around. They had changed the subject, but Ginny could still see Hermione’s face watching her suspiciously. Eventually she had relaxed, apparently deciding that Ginny hadn’t heard anything worth worrying about. Actually, Ginny had been listening in on their conversations for quite some time and had managed to glean that they were searching for something important of Voldemort’s “ but it didn’t matter. She had always known that however much she got let in on, however closely she followed them, Ron, Harry and Hermione were a trio, not a quartet. They always would be, and Ginny would let them keep their secrets.
However, that didn’t stop her listening in.
Five O’clock. Privet Drive.
A woman walking a small terrier looked at him with barely disguised revulsion as she passed. Harry stared blandly at the passing cars, not caring, daydreaming aimlessly. A small part of his mind wondered about the dream he knew he had had, but could no longer remember.
Six O’clock. Grimmauld Place.
Ginny toyed with the extendible ear in her hand. Mark II, she reminded herself. She smiled. Fred and George really were getting good. With the shop bringing in plenty of money, the twins had moved away from the practical joke area and were looking more into what they liked to call ‘defence and espionage’. Ginny remembered last week “ she had been at the kitchen door, about to leave before an order meeting, when George had thrust the extendible ear into her hand and Fred had murmured in her ear, “Mark II “ don’t show mum.” She had been delighted to discover that ‘Mark II’ had twice the length and range of the original, and of course the best thing “ it could penetrate silencing and imperturbable charms. For obvious reasons, they were not being sold to the public, but Ginny looked forward to when all this would be over and she could hopefully see whatever else the twins had been working on. A darker part of her mind wondered if Harry, Ron and Hermione would still be around to appreciate it.
Seven O’clock. Privet Drive.
Harry watched the sun get lower and lower, and knew he should be heading back. He’d missed dinner already, but he knew that there was every chance he was being watched by the Order and probably wasn’t supposed to be out after dark. Harry found that he didn’t have the energy to care. He pulled himself off his seat and began to trudge slowly back to number four, being sure to take the longest route.
Eight O’clock. Grimmauld Place.
Ginny looked up at the stars. When she was five, Bill had taught her some of the star names. Sirius, the Dog Star. Regulus. Bellatrix. Andromeda. The Bear star. She looked for them now. For a moment, she thought she saw a lightening bolt amongst the constellations, but when she blinked it had disappeared. She sank deeper and deeper into reverie, where she and Harry were closer than ever, she was one of the trio turned quartet, and she helped them defeat Voldemort together…
Nine O’clock. Privet Drive.
When Harry finally got back to number four, there was a note waiting for him on the kitchen table. He unfolded it. It was from his aunt, telling him in her neat biro writing that she was in Hertfordshire, visiting a friend, and that Dudley was staying over the Polkiss’ house for the night. Neither of them would be back till tomorrow - he and his uncle would be the only people in the house tonight. Harry couldn’t prevent a shiver of childish, long-forgotten fear. Alone in the house with Uncle Vernon. His aunt rarely allowed this to happen, and he could remember the last time vividly, as though it were yesterday.
His uncle had “ NO. Harry shook his head to clear it. This was ridiculous. He was seventeen now (well, nearly) and easily as tall as his uncle. There was nothing to worry about. And if there ever was, he thought, I don’t remember it. He swallowed hard and pushed the thoughts back to the deep well of ‘forgotten’ memories in the back of his mind.
Harry opened the fridge door and tried to decide on something to eat, but his appetite had gone. He sighed in annoyance and sat down at the kitchen table, allowing apathy to overwhelm him.
Ten O’clock. Grimmauld Place.
Suddenly, something inside Ginny snapped. What was she doing? Ron, Hermione and Harry were going to be out there risking their lives and she was holed up in her room like…like some stupid princess in a bloody tower! Harry had told her to stay out of danger, to her face and she had listened to him! Why? The answer came immediately. Because I trust him. Well he would just have to learn to trust her as much.
Ginny stared out into the starry night one last time, then came inside, closed the window, and began to plan.
Eleven O’clock. Privet Drive.
Harry knew he was coming before he heard the door. The familiar sound of tyres on number four’s drive, the engine dying quickly and efficiently, the stamp, stamp, stamp of his uncle’s feet “ but something deep in his mind registered that there was something wrong with the sounds. The tyres had sounded faster, the engine more abruptly cut off, the stamp stamp stamp just a little too irregular. It wasn’t until the door was slammed with ferocious force that Harry realised. His uncle was drunk. Harry froze in his seat, an old, far-too-familiar terror gripping him, previously suppressed memories flashing through his mind. Four years old, being made to get inside his cupboard for the first time. Seven years old, being punished for getting better grades than Dudley, and nursing the bruises for a week afterwards. Nine years old, giving the Headmistress’s letter to his uncle because his aunt and cousin were out, and they were alone in the house together. Later that night, in his cupboard, shaking and crying but holding his pillow over his face so his uncle wouldn’t hear and hurt him more…
And then the kitchen door swung open. The man himself stood in the doorway, blinking at the lights.
“You,” he snarled. Harry tried to move but his fear held him in place.
“You stupid, ungrateful little freak!” his uncle spat, and swung at him. Harry dodged by instinct “ just in time. His uncle’s ham of a fist barely missed him. As it was, he stumbled, knocking over the chair he had been sitting in and grabbing the countertop for support before pushing himself upright again. He glanced at the door to the hall. He knew from experience that if he made it to the stairs, his Uncle would not chase him, but this wasn’t very helpful. Uncle Vernon was between him and his only escape route. He may have been sixteen, and he may have been almost as tall as his uncle “ but in his mind Harry was nine years old again, shaking with fear and repressed terror at the shear size and strength of the man coming towards him, not even considering fight or flight as possible. Because as a nine-year-old, Harry knew that Vernon Dursley was an unstoppable force.
Twelve O’clock. London.
The inhabitants of Twelve, Grimmauld Place slept on, unaware of what was happening a hundred miles away in Surrey. Amongst them was a slender, red-haired girl, sitting at her desk yet fast asleep with her head resting on the tabletop.
One O’clock. Surrey.
The storm that had earlier caused such stifling heat had broken, and it was raining in Little Whinging. A single figure walked slowly along the pavement.
His black hair was plastered to his head, his green eyes gazing into painful nothingness as he took step after agonizing step. The paleness of his thin face contrasted starkly with the vivid bruises along his temple, eye and cheekbone. Harry stopped in front of Mrs Figg’s bungalow “ his destination “ walked to the door and pushed the bell with a shaking, ice-cold finger. He waited. There was no answer. He pressed the button again; still no response. Then he saw the note attached to the door, encased in a transparent plastic folder to protect it from the weather. Harry read it, squinting through the rain.
Milkman “ no deliveries here until the 15th. Thank You. She wasn’t there.
Harry was angry. What had happened to him? He was almost seventeen, nearly of age, he could look after himself! And yet, here he was, hovering outside some dingy old bungalow that constantly smelt of cats and old cabbage, looking for help. How pathetic! He spun around, as if to walk away, but the pain shot up his left leg and he stumbled, his anger evaporating into despair. He leaned against the bungalow door and slowly sank down, sitting on the doorstep. Shock, despair, lack of food and pure exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he passed out gently into darkness.
*
It was three o’clock in the morning as Arabella Figg stood wearily in the middle of the bustling airport. She had been travelling most of the night “ returning from an overseas, undercover mission for the order. Unfortunately, she had had to travel the muggle way for security, exhausting though it was and so she was delighted to see a familiar red-head waiting to meet her by the doors.
“Bill! How lovely to see you!”
Bill Weasley grinned and strode over.
“Arabella.”
He took one of her bags and they walked outside, towards the apparation spot. She gripped his arm tightly and they were whisked away, landing neatly on the tiled floor of her kitchen. She sighed. Home.
“Cup of tea?” she offered.
Bill shook his head reluctantly. “Sorry Arabella “ I really should get back,” he apologised. She nodded.
“Wait a moment while I hang my coat up, and I’ll see you off.” She went out into the hall and Bill waited, letting his gaze wander curiously. Mrs Figg’s home was almost purely muggle “ what his father wouldn’t do for the chance to visit. Bill smiled at the thought. Now, that would be funny to see…
His thoughts were interrupted by a gasp of shock from the hall.
“Bill!”
He ran into the hall and saw Mrs Figg at the front door. Joining her he realised what had made her call. Pale and shivering and huddled up in a feeble attempt to shelter from the cold rain was “
“Harry…” Bill whispered, but shook himself.
“We need to get him inside.”
*
Charlie Weasley woke up with a start to a quiet knocking on the door.
“Charlie!” Bill’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “Charlie!” He pushed himself out of bed quickly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
“Come in,” he called back quietly. Bill entered, not bothering to shut the door behind him, and speaking almost at once.
“Put something on, quickly. I need your help.”
His older brother’s tone was anxious and impatient, moving Charlie into obeying automatically. He opened his wardrobe, reaching for his robes.
A minute or so later Charlie arrived downstairs, fully clothed and awake. Bill was standing by the fireplace, tapping his foot impatiently, but stopped when Charlie entered.
“What’s going on?” Charlie asked, watching his brother’s expression.
“It’ll take too long to explain,” Bill replied tersely. “We need to get moving now. Got your healing stuff?” Charlie nodded, worried. When he had become a member of the Order, he had started a healing course on top of his other duties. He wasn’t an expert, but he knew enough to make himself useful “ and that was something. As he followed his brother into the floo network the way he had done for the Order of the Phoenix so many times before, he could only hope that his very basic healing training would be enough to help.
*
They had arrived back at Grimmauld place at around half-past four that morning. Charlie and Tonks had gone straight to their rooms after helping Bill get Harry to his, but Bill had remained in the kitchen as the dawn grew clearer. He wondered about the details of what had happened, but knew it was unlikely that he’d get much from Harry. He’d turned much more secretive this summer, and with him, Ron and Hermione “ it was with them he would have to leave the task of persuading Harry to open up.
But at least Harry would be alright for now. It was lucky that Charlie was still in London for Bill and Fleur’s wedding; when he had reached Mrs Figg’s house, Charlie had gone straight to Harry’s side…
“Hold him upright, Bill,” Charlie said. Bill did so as Charlie raised his left hand and felt Harry's forehead, before taking his pulse and checking his breathing.
“Well?”
“Moderate hypothermia. Commonly the result of being exposed to cold and wet conditions for an extended amount of time.” Bill looked sideways at him. His younger brother looked pale and nervous, and his voice was odd, as though he were reciting from memory.
Charlie took a deep breath. Okay, I can do this.
“We need a towel or something,” he said over his shoulder, and heard Mrs Figg hurry to oblige. He placed the tip of his wand on Harry's chest. A warm light radiated out of it for a second, and then the spell was absorbed. Charlie gave a sigh of relief as he felt Harry's pulse slowly return to a normal rate and a little colour return to Harry's face. He pocketed his wand, and stood up.
“Come on; let’s get him back to Headquarters.”
As people began to stir upstairs, Bill got to his feet and started to make something for breakfast.
*
That's all for now, folks. I need reviews to feed my pet dragon, please help!
Hazel