-----
Dashing through the eerie silence, (Y/n) delved into the deserted corridors.
The echo of her footsteps and the pounding of her heart created an unsettling symphony in the empty castle, shrouded in mystery. Seeking the familiar faces of Ron, Hermione, and Harry, she found the hallways seemingly infinite, a labyrinth withholding its secrets.
Minutes blurred amidst the haunting emptiness; her calls echoed unanswered.
In the dim distance, a mysterious figure emerged—a towering silhouette draped in shadows. Despite the obscured identity, an irresistible pull drew her towards this enigmatic presence. Racing for connection in the desolate castle, the corridor's end remained elusive, teasing her pursuit. Abruptly freezing, an unexplained force arrested her steps when he uttered her name. Goosebumps rippled through her, and the surroundings warped into a disorienting haze. Crashing to the ground, knees meeting the cold floor first.
Enchantment seized the air, whispers akin to the murmurs of countless unseen spectators surrounded her.
A torrent of transformation gripped her body, agony intertwining with fear. Hands and feet dissolved into the void, her screams echoing the tumultuous metamorphosis. What's happening to her? She doesn't know — In an instant, a hiss escaped her lips —
Seated and breathless, (Y/n) gingerly opened her eyes. The rapid thud of her heart echoed in her ears. The enigma of that dream eluded her — ever since Sirius passed, it had haunted her sleep for numerous nights, halted briefly, only to weave its way back into her subconscious just the other day. Could it be? Might she transform like Nagini? Would she become a serpent?
The notion sent shivers down her spine — she shook her head — her thoughts vague, the prospect of her turning into Nagini or anything akin seemed implausible. One stark realization emerged, even as she immersed herself in the pages of this book, traversed this realm — certain things were beyond the bounds of possibility. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, exhaling deeply.
Her gaze drifted towards the window — ajar, unbeknownst to her — and to her astonishment, the afternoon sun painted the room; she hadn't realized she succumbed to slumber from sheer exhaustion — Mrs. Weasley had roused them early in the morning, her, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, to scrub the house devoid of magic, and naturally, Ginny and Ron aired their grievances under their breath.
Her stomach growled. She had skipped a snack.
As she contemplated rising without a second thought, the door swung open abruptly, unveiling Ginny.
"Mum insists we lend a hand with dinner to spare Fleur from exhaustion — but we both know it's just because Mum disapproves of her," Ginny declared without pausing. However, catching sight of (Y/n)'s tousled hair and disheveled attire, she couldn't resist a smirk, "Just risen? Dreamt of Harry once more, haven't you?" she teased.
Each time Ginny ventured into her room to find her freshly awakened, since their return from Hogwarts, she couldn't resist needling her about supposedly dreaming of Harry, a habit that grated on (Y/n)'s nerves.
She rolled her eyes.
"The only one dreaming of Harry here... is you," she retorted.
Ginny smirked.
"The only one I'm dreaming about every night, clothed or not, is my boyfriend..." she replied.
The reply twisted (Y/n)'s face into a blend of repulsion and laughter.
"You and your wild dreams, Gin," she remarked, shaking her head, then rose from her bed, straightening her pillows.
"You know, I don't get it..." Ginny began, sinking down onto (Y/n)'s bed as (Y/n) worked on fixing her crumpled blanket. She shot a glare at Ginny, who ignored it.
"What is it?" (Y/n) inquired.
"Well, it's not because I'm your sister or anything, but... you're like really pretty," Ginny said, sounding frustrated or confused. (Y/n) didn't react, having heard this from her dozens of times already, "Boys from various houses gawk at you whenever you pass by them, and that didn't happen before!"
(Y/n) was well aware of that fact.
"I even saw Zabini looking at you with interest last term... and mind you, he doesn't look at any girl the way he looks at you... he doesn't even seem easy to please," Ginny continued, making (Y/n)'s brow furrow in confusion. Zabini? Blaise Zabini from Slytherin? She wanted to ask Ginny about it, but she held her tongue, anticipating Ginny's teasing.
"So, what don't you get?" (Y/n) asked, lacking any interest.
Ginny looked at her as if she were incredibly dense.
"I haven't seen you dating someone... if I had your face, I'd take that advantage to seduce as many guys as I want." (Y/n) glared at her, "I'm just joking... but I'd probably have a boyfriend by now — oh, the power I'd have if I had your face... ahh, breaking hearts," Ginny mused, as if shattering hearts were a dream she wished to fulfill. What a heartbreaker this girl was.
"Ginny, you're gorgeous enough to have ten guys interested in you even if you have a boyfriend," (Y/n) said tiredly. "And what you don't get is me not having a boyfriend despite... despite me having... uh... a pleasant face?" (Y/n) replied, hesitating to mention that she's considered attractive.
"Correction, dear sister, a pretty face — I said pretty face, not pleasant face... and yes, that's what I don't get about you," Ginny corrected, ignoring the fact that (Y/n) just acknowledged her attractiveness and that she was already taken, "Anyway, why hasn't Harry asked you out? Do you want me to set you up with some handsome boys when we return to Hogwarts?" Ginny inquired.
(Y/n) directed an intrigued gaze towards Ginny. The notion of being set up on a blind date and Ginny's inquiries about Harry's lack of romantic gestures seemed utterly incredulous. Locking eyes with Ginny, who hoped she would consent to the blind date. She let out a weary sigh.
"I'm not keen on blind dates or being set up with someone else — and please," she sighed again, "Harry and I — there's nothing between us —"
"Not yet," Ginny interjected, a mischievous grin playing on her lips.
(Y/n) sighed once more, feeling irritation bubbling within. She was growing exasperated with Ginny.
"Because both of you refuse to acknowledge your feelings for each other, so —"
"I don't have feelings for him, Ginny!" she asserted.
Ginny stared at her, as though silently implying that she was deluding herself.
"Of course not," she sarcastically concurred, "but he's clearly drawn to you even while he's dating Cho. Hermione thought the same thing—"
"Hermione talks behind my back?" She asked, feeling quite taken aback. She hadn't expected that from Hermione.
"You and Ron are quite the pair — both so melodramatic over nothing," Ginny remarked. "Anyway, we both think Harry should—"
"Ginny, could you please leave?" (Y/n) gestured towards the door. "If you're not going to keep quiet, I'd prefer you to leave my room. No offence."
"Oh, come on, Sabrina!" Ginny whined.
"GET OUT!" she exclaimed firmly leaving no room for Ginny to argue.
Ginny stood up, glared at her, and then slammed the door shut so loudly that Mrs Weasley downstairs heard it and inquired about the commotion.
(Y/n) sat down on her bed, feeling irritated.
This wasn't good.
Ginny, Harry's future wife, was teasing her and pushing her to date Harry.
(Y/n) wondered how much longer she would remain in this world. She worried she might have altered certain events in the real story — sure, it was known that the original Sabrina fancied Harry, but she wasn't sure if Ginny was supposed to date Dean or if Ginny was teasing Sabrina to date Harry in the books.
She needed to be cautious about her actions, particularly around Harry.
Unconsciously, her eyes darted to her wooden drawer, where the two-way mirror lay untouched. She hadn't used it, not even once. She knew Harry might be wondering why she hadn't. She had sent him a letter once, and that was it. But who's keeping track? Besides, that shouldn't have upset him, right? Who could blame her after what happened at the train station? She didn't know how to face him or how to speak to him, especially after their last encounter.
She sighed for the hundredth time.
She had been attempting to push that incident out of her mind, but how could she forget about it when it was her first kiss, not as Sabrina — but as (Y/n)? Would she even consider it her first kiss when she wasn't certain if this was her own body? She needed to find books on how to erase such memories — No, scratch that — she was contemplating how to make Harry forget about it. Should she Obliviate him? No, that wouldn't be wise. How could she broach the topic without offending him? She didn't know. The worst part was, she didn't know if she had disrupted certain events because of that accidental kiss.
Oh, how she wished he could forget.
----
Oh, how Harry wished she hadn't forgotten.
He had been snoring loudly. Seated in a chair by his bedroom window for nearly four hours, he had been staring out at the darkening street, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of three individuals: one who had departed, another whom he was due to meet soon, and the one he fervently hoped hadn't forgotten about the means of communication he had given her. Eventually, he had dozed off, his face pressed against the chilly window pane, glasses askew and mouth wide open. The misty imprint his breath had left on the window shimmered in the orange glow of the streetlamp outside. The artificial light drained all colour from his face, giving him a ghostly appearance beneath his tousled black hair.
The room was a mess, cluttered with an assortment of belongings and a fair amount of rubbish. The two-way mirror, which he had been grasping and checking every few seconds since arriving in Privet Drive (hoping for a call from someone with red hair, freckles, and blue eyes), now rested on the floor beside a stray owl feather. Apple cores and sweet wrappers littered the floor, while a jumble of spellbooks lay scattered amidst the tangled robes on his bed. A stack of newspapers sat in a pool of light on his desk, with one headline screaming :
HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE?
Speculation continues to spread regarding the recent mysterious upheaval at the Ministry of Magic, where sightings of He Who Must Not Be Named have been reported once more.
"We're not at liberty to discuss it, don't ask me anything," stated a flustered Obliviator, who exited the Ministry last night and refused to disclose his identity.
Nevertheless, credible sources within the Ministry have affirmed that the disturbance was centred around the famed Hall of Prophecy. While Ministry spokeswizards have consistently denied the existence of such a place, an increasing number within the wizarding community believe that the Death Eaters, currently serving sentences in Azkaban for intrusion and attempted theft, were endeavouring to steal a prophecy. The content of this prophecy remains unknown, although there is widespread speculation that it pertains to Harry Potter, the sole individual known to have survived the Killing Curse and who was present at the Ministry on the said night. Some even go as far as dubbing Potter the "Chosen One," convinced that the prophecy designates him as the sole individual capable of vanquishing He Who Must Not Be Named. The current whereabouts of this alleged prophecy, if it exists, remain unknown, although (continued on page 2, column 5).
Beside the first newspaper lay a second publication bearing the headline:
SCRIMGEOUR SUCCEEDS FUDGE
Most of the front page featured a large black-and-white image of a man with a mane of thick, lion-like hair and a somewhat worn-out visage. The picture was animated – the man was waving at the ceiling.
Rufus Scrimgeour, formerly the Head of the Auror Office within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, has assumed office as Minister for Magic following Cornelius Fudge. The appointment has generally been welcomed by the wizarding community, although rumours of a divide between the new Minister and Albus Dumbledore, recently reinstated as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, surfaced shortly after Scrimgeour's inauguration.
Representatives of Scrimgeour acknowledged his immediate meeting with Dumbledore upon assuming the position but declined to elaborate on the topics discussed. Albus Dumbledore is recognised to (continued on page 3, column 2).
Adjacent to this newspaper rested another, folded so that a story entitled MINISTRY GUARANTEES STUDENTS' SAFETY was visible.
Rufus Scrimgeour, the recently appointed Minister for Magic, has highlighted the stringent new measures implemented by the Ministry to ensure the safety of students returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this autumn.
"For obvious reasons, the Ministry won't divulge specifics about its robust new security plans," declared the Minister, although an insider confirmed the inclusion of defensive spells, charms, an intricate array of counter-curses, and a dedicated Auror task force solely responsible for safeguarding Hogwarts School.
Many are reassured by the new Minister's firm stance on student safety. Mrs Augusta Longbottom commented, "My grandson Neville – incidentally, a close friend of Harry Potter's, who bravely fought the Death Eaters alongside him at the Ministry in June, and-"
However, the remaining part of this story was obscured by the large birdcage positioned atop it. Within the cage resided a splendid snowy owl. Her amber eyes surveyed the room imperiously, occasionally swivelling to observe her slumbering master. On occasion, she clicked her beak impatiently, yet Harry was in such a deep sleep that he remained unaware of her actions.
Placed at the very centre of the room was a substantial trunk. Its lid was ajar, giving it an air of expectancy, yet its contents were scant - barely a residue of old underwear, sweets, empty ink bottles, and broken quills that littered the bottom. Nearby, on the floor, rested a purple leaflet adorned with the following words:
Issued on Behalf of the Ministry of Magic
PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY AGAINST DARK FORCES
The wizarding community currently faces a threat from an organisation known as the Death Eaters. Adhering to the following straightforward security guidelines will aid in safeguarding yourself, your family, and your residence from potential attacks:
1. It is recommended not to venture out alone from your home.
2. Exercise caution, especially during the hours of darkness. Whenever possible, complete journeys before nightfall.
3. Assess and reinforce the security measures around your abode. Ensure all family members are versed in emergency actions such as Shield and Disillusionment Charms. For underage family members, educate them about Side-Along-Apparition.
4. Establish security questions with close acquaintances and family to identify Death Eaters who might disguise themselves using Polyjuice Potion (refer to page 2).
5. If you suspect peculiar behaviour from a family member, colleague, friend, or neighbour, immediately contact the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. They might be under the influence of the Imperius Curse (refer to page 4).
6. Should the Dark Mark materialise above any dwelling or building, DO NOT ENTER but promptly notify the Auror Office.
7. Unverified reports indicate that the Death Eaters may now be employing Inferi (refer to page 10). Any sighting or encounter with an Inferius should be reported to the Ministry IMMEDIATELY.
Harry grunted in his sleep, causing his face to slide down the window by an inch or so, further skewing his already lopsided glasses, yet he remained undisturbed. An old alarm clock, previously repaired by Harry years ago, loudly ticked away on the windowsill, indicating one minute to eleven. Adjacent to it, held in place by Harry's relaxed hand (which was also where the two-way mirror had been but was dropped onto the floor), rested a piece of parchment adorned with slanted, thin writing. Harry had perused this letter countless times since its arrival three days prior. Despite its initial arrival as a tightly rolled scroll, it now lay completely flat.
Dear Harry,
Should it suit your convenience, I intend to visit number four, Privet Drive, this upcoming Friday at eleven p.m. to escort you to The Burrow, where you've been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays. If this is agreeable, I also seek your assistance in a matter that requires attention on our way to The Burrow. I shall provide further details upon meeting you.
Kindly send your response by return of this owl.
Looking forward to seeing you this Friday,
Yours most sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Even though he had memorised it, Harry had been stealing glances at the letter every few minutes since seven o'clock that evening. He'd taken up his post by his bedroom window, which offered a decent view of both ends of Privet Drive. He understood that repeatedly rereading Dumbledore's words was futile; Harry had promptly replied with a 'yes' through the delivering owl, as requested. Now, all he could do was wait: either Dumbledore would arrive, or he wouldn't.
However, Harry hadn't packed. The idea of being rescued from the Dursleys after just two weeks seemed too good to be true. He couldn't shake the feeling that something would go wrong – his reply to Dumbledore's letter might have gone astray; Dumbledore could be prevented from collecting him; or the letter might not be from Dumbledore at all, but rather a trick or a joke. He couldn't bring himself to pack, fearing disappointment and having to unpack again. The only gesture he made towards the journey was securing his snowy owl, Hedwig, safely in her cage.
The minute hand on the alarm clock reached twelve, and at that precise moment, the streetlamp outside his window flickered off. The sudden darkness jolted Harry awake. Hurriedly adjusting his glasses and pulling his cheek away from the glass, he pressed his nose against the window and peered down at the pavement. A tall figure in a billowing cloak was walking up the garden path.
Harry sprang up as if electrified, knocking over his chair and frantically grabbing anything within reach from the floor, tossing it into the trunk. Even as he flung robes, spell-books, and a packet of crisps across the room, the doorbell rang. Downstairs, Uncle Vernon's voice boomed, "Who on earth is calling at this time of night?"
With a brass telescope in one hand and a pair of trainers in the other, Harry froze. He had completely forgotten to warn the Dursleys about Dumbledore's potential visit. Feeling a mix of panic and amusement, he climbed over the trunk and flung open his bedroom door just in time to hear a deep voice saying, "Good evening. You must be Mr Dursley. I suppose Harry mentioned my visit?"
Rushing down the stairs two at a time, Harry stopped abruptly several steps from the bottom, having learned to stay out of his uncle's arm's reach whenever possible. Standing in the doorway was a tall, slender man with waist-length silver hair and beard. Half-moon spectacles perched on his crooked nose, and he wore a long black travelling cloak and a pointed hat. Vernon Dursley, whose moustache was as bushy as Dumbledore's, though black, and sporting a puce dressing-gown, stared in disbelief.
"By your look of utter disbelief, Harry didn't forewarn you of my visit," remarked Dumbledore genially. "Nevertheless, let us assume you've invited me in. It's unwise to dally on doorsteps in these uncertain times."
He stepped briskly over the threshold and closed the front door behind him.
"It's been a while since my last visit," Dumbledore remarked, peering down his crooked nose at Uncle Vernon. "I must say, your agapanthuses are thriving."
Vernon Dursley said nothing. Harry suspected he would find his voice soon – the vein on his uncle's temple was reaching its limit – but there was something about Dumbledore that seemed to momentarily take his breath away. Perhaps it was the evident wizardly appearance, or maybe even Uncle Vernon could sense that this was a man not easily intimidated.
"Ah, good evening, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking up at him through his half-moon glasses with a highly contented expression. "Splendid, splendid."
Those words seemed to snap Uncle Vernon back to reality. Clearly, in his view, anyone who could look at Harry and say 'splendid' was someone he could never see eye to eye with.
"I don't mean to be impolite–" he began, each syllable filled with potential rudeness.
"– unfortunately, accidental impoliteness occurs far too frequently," Dumbledore gently concluded the sentence. "Best not to say anything, my dear man. Ah, and you must be Petunia."
The kitchen door had opened, and there stood Harry's aunt, donning rubber gloves and a housecoat over her nightdress, midway through her customary pre-bedtime cleaning of the kitchen surfaces. Her rather horsey face revealed nothing but shock.
"Albus Dumbledore," Dumbledore introduced himself, when Uncle Vernon failed to provide an introduction. "We have corresponded, naturally." Harry found it an odd way to remind Aunt Petunia of the time he'd sent her an exploding letter, but she didn't contest the term. "And this must be your son Dudley?"
At that moment, Dudley peered around the living-room door. His large, blond head rising out of the collar of his pyjamas seemed oddly disconnected, his mouth agape with astonishment and fear. Dumbledore waited a moment or two, seemingly waiting for any response from the Dursleys, but as the silence persisted, he smiled.
"Shall we assume I'm invited into your sitting room?"
Dudley quickly moved aside as Dumbledore passed him. Harry, still clutching the telescope and trainers, leapt the last few stairs and followed Dumbledore, who had settled into the armchair closest to the fire, observing his surroundings with a benevolent interest. He looked remarkably out of place.
-----
"At last, it seemed to fit in just right." Hermione's response came as (Y/n) placed the doll Hermione had purchased for her onto the doll shelf, amidst others clad in neatly arranged cloaks. These dolls were old; they'd been bought by Mrs. Weasley when the real Sabrina was just a child. After removing the doll's Muggle attire and replacing it with the crochet Hogwarts uniform she had painstakingly crafted — a significant improvement since Hermione had aided her in making it — she had dressed the doll Hermione had given her. Hermione had purchased it for (Y/n), remembering her resemblance to Sabrina. The doll had red hair, freckles, and blue eyes.
Once she finished arranging the doll among the older ones, she settled down beside Hermione, who was already lying on her bed. Hermione was here on vacation, and ever since her arrival, (Y/n) had been sleeping beside her each night. Their proximity had brought them closer not only physically but also through their discussions — she found it refreshing to converse with Hermione about various girl-related matters.
"Thank you again for the doll, although you really didn't have to." She repeated her gratitude for the umpteenth time, earning a playful eye roll from Hermione.
"Stop saying that; I've already given it to you. Besides, we've been friends for a long time, so..." Hermione turned towards (Y/n), making their faces align. The room was dimly lit by candles, with moonlight streaming through the open window. Earlier, Hermione had suggested closing it for warmth, but (Y/n) insisted on leaving it open, desiring a chilly room. Though Hermione disagreed, she didn't pursue the argument further.
"Alright, alright, Hermy."
"Are you Grawp or something? Calling me Hermy," said Hermione, faking an annoyed tone.
(Y/n) grinned mischievously.
"You don't want to be called Hermy?"
"Do I look pleased when you call me that?"
"No, but what if Ron's the one calling you that? Would you react in the same way?" asked (Y/n), teasingly, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Ugh, are you going to tease me again about your brother?" Hermione asked wearily, seemingly exhausted by (Y/n)'s constant teasing since her arrival. "Do you even hear yourself?"
"Funny you'd think I can't hear myself."
"Very funny. No wonder you and Harry fit so perfectly together."
This time, (Y/n) groaned in irritation, while Hermione smirked in triumph. She knew how to provoke (Y/n) by mentioning Harry, much like (Y/n) did with Ron.
"Shut up, Hermione, you're making my hair stand on end," (Y/n) exclaimed dramatically.
"Well, serves you right — that's your payment for giving me nightmares by suggesting I and Ron looked good together," chuckled Hermione.
"But I'm right, aren't I?" persisted (Y/n), earning a disgusted look from Hermione. "You and Ron look good together — like a match made in heaven."
"Ugh, stop that!" protested Hermione, and though (Y/n) couldn't quite see it in the dimly lit room, she knew Hermione was blushing. "If you don't stop, I'll make sure when Harry arrives tomorrow I'll —"
"Harry's arriving tomorrow?" interrupted (Y/n), sounding surprised. She knew he was spending the remainder of the summer here, but she hadn't realized it was so soon. Hermione looked at her puzzled, "You didn't know?"
"Well, I knew he was coming, but I didn't know it was this soon... I'm just... surprised," she whispered the last part. Shifting her position, she gazed at the ceiling, her thoughts racing. She wasn't prepared to face Harry after what happened two weeks ago. Although she had sent a letter, she hadn't mentioned the kiss. She wasn't ready to confront him — how could she?
Hermione picked up on her silence. "What are you thinking?" (Y/n) sensed Hermione's smirk behind those words, which only increased her unease.
"Nothing, I just forgot about it," she deflected, choosing not to divulge the details of what had transpired between her and Harry. She reasoned that it wasn't appropriate to broadcast it, especially considering Harry had just ended his relationship with his girlfriend. Moreover, knowing that he was going to marry someone else added another layer of complexity. "Anyway, I'm feeling sleepy. Goodnight, Hermione."
Without lingering for a response, she tucked herself under the thick blanket, contemplating whether she should address the kiss with Harry. The room grew darker as Hermione likely extinguished the candles, accompanied by her puzzled "goodnight."
-----
Harry glanced around; all three of the Dursleys were cowering with their arms over their heads as their spectacles bounced up and down on their skulls, the contents flying everywhere.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," said Dumbledore politely, and he raised his wand again. All three glasses disappeared. "But it would have been better manners to drink it, you know."
Uncle Vernon seemed on the brink of delivering several unpleasant retorts, but he simply shrank back into the cushions with Aunt Petunia and Dudley, keeping his small piggy eyes fixed on Dumbledore's wand.
"You see," Dumbledore continued, turning back to Harry and speaking as though Uncle Vernon hadn't spoken, "if you have indeed inherited the house, you have also inherited–"
He flicked his wand for a fifth time. There was a loud crack, and a house-elf materialised, with a snout-like nose, giant bat-like ears, and enormous bloodshot eyes, crouching on the Dursleys' shagpile carpet and clad in grimy rags. Aunt Petunia let out a hair-raising shriek; nothing this filthy had entered her house in living memory. Dudley drew his large bare pink feet off the floor and sat with them raised almost above his head, as though fearing the creature might crawl up his pyjama trousers, while Uncle Vernon bellowed, "What on earth is that?"
"Kreacher," Dumbledore concluded.
"Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't!" croaked the house-elf, as loudly as Uncle Vernon, stamping his long gnarled feet and tugging his ears. "Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh, yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, won't–"
"As you can see, Harry," said Dumbledore, speaking over Kreacher's continued protests of "won't, won't, won't", "Kreacher is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership."
"I don't care," Harry said again, looking with disgust at the writhing, stamping house-elf. "I don't want him."
"Won't, won't, won't, won't–"
"You'd rather he be owned by Bellatrix Lestrange? Considering he has lived at the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year?"
"Won't, won't, won't, won't–"
Harry stared at Dumbledore. He knew that Kreacher could not be permitted to go and live with Bellatrix Lestrange, but the idea of owning him, of having responsibility for the creature that had betrayed Sirius, was repugnant.
"Give him an order," said Dumbledore. "If he has passed into your ownership, he will have to obey. If not, then we shall have to think of some other means of keeping him from his rightful mistress."
"Won't, won't, won't, WON'T!"
Kreacher's voice had risen to a scream. Harry could think of nothing to say, except, "Kreacher, shut up!"
It seemed for a moment as though Kreacher was going to choke. He grabbed his throat, his mouth still working furiously, his eyes bulging. After a few seconds of frantic gulping, he threw himself face forwards onto the carpet (Aunt Petunia whimpered), beating the floor with his hands and feet, giving himself over to a violent, but entirely silent, tantrum.
"Well, that simplifies matters," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "It seems that Sirius knew what he was doing. You are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and of Kreacher."
"Do I – do I have to keep him with me?" Harry asked, aghast, as Kreacher thrashed around at his feet.
"Not if you don't want to," said Dumbledore. "If I might make a suggestion, you could send him to Hogwarts to work in the kitchen there. In that way, the other house-elves could keep an eye on him."
"Yes," said Harry in relief, "yes, I'll do that. Er – Kreacher – I want you to go to Hogwarts and work in the kitchens there with the other house-elves." Kreacher, who was now lying flat on his back with his arms and legs in the air, gave Harry one upside-down look of deepest loathing and, with another loud crack, vanished.
"Good," said Dumbledore. "There is also the matter of the Hippogriff, Buckbeak. Hagrid has been looking after him since Sirius died, but Buckbeak is yours now, so if you would prefer to make different arrangements–"
"No," said Harry at once, "he can stay with Hagrid. I think Buckbeak would prefer that."
"Hagrid will be delighted," said Dumbledore, smiling. "He was thrilled to see Buckbeak again. Incidentally, we have decided, in the interests of Buckbeak's safety, to rechristen him Witherwings for the time being, though I doubt that the Ministry would ever guess he is the Hippogriff they once sentenced to death. Now, Harry, is your trunk packed?"
"Erm..."
"Doubtful that I would turn up?" Dumbledore suggested shrewdly.
"I'll just go and – er – finish off," said Harry hastily, hurrying to pick up his fallen telescope and trainers.
It took him a little over ten minutes to track down everything he needed; at last, he had managed to extract his Invisibility Cloak from under the bed, screwed the top back on his jar of Colour-Change Ink, and forced the lid of his trunk shut on his cauldron. Then, heaving his trunk in one hand and holding Hedwig's cage in the other, he made his way back downstairs.
He was disappointed to discover that Dumbledore was not waiting in the hall, which meant that he had to return to the living room. Nobody was talking. Dumbledore was humming quietly, apparently quite at ease, but the atmosphere was thicker than cold custard, and Harry did not dare look at the Dursleys as he said, "Professor – I'm ready now."
"Good," said Dumbledore. "Just one last thing, then." And he turned to speak to the Dursleys once more. "As you will no doubt be aware, Harry comes of age in a year's time–"
"No," said Aunt Petunia, speaking for the first time since Dumbledore's arrival.
"I'm sorry?" said Dumbledore politely.
"No, he doesn't. He's a month younger than Dudley, and Dudders doesn't turn eighteen until the year after next."
"Ah," said Dumbledore pleasantly, "but in the wizarding world, we come of age at seventeen."
Uncle Vernon muttered "preposterous," but Dumbledore ignored him.
"Now, as you already know, the wizard called Lord Voldemort has returned to this country. The wizarding community is currently in a state of open warfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions, is in even greater danger now than the day when I left him upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own."
Dumbledore paused, and although his voice remained light and calm, and he gave no obvious sign of anger, Harry felt a kind of chill emanating from him and noticed that the Dursleys drew very slightly closer together.
"You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you." Both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked around instinctively, as though expecting to see someone other than Dudley squeezed between them.
"Us – mistreat Dudders? What d'you –?" began Uncle Vernon furiously, but Dumbledore raised his finger for silence, a silence which fell as though he had struck Uncle Vernon dumb.
"The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house home. However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen; in other words, the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this: that you allow Harry to return, once more, to this house, before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protection continues until that time."
None of the Dursleys said anything. Dudley was frowning slightly, as though he was still trying to work out when he had ever been mistreated. Uncle Vernon looked as though he had something stuck in his throat; Aunt Petunia, however, was oddly flushed.
"Well, Harry ... time for us to be off," said Dumbledore at last, standing up and straightening his long black cloak. "Until we meet again," he said to the Dursleys, who looked as though that moment could wait for ever as far as they were concerned, and after doffing his hat, he swept from the room.
"Bye," said Harry hastily to the Dursleys and followed Dumbledore, who paused beside Harry's trunk, upon which Hedwig's cage was perched.
"We do not want to be encumbered by these just now," he said, pulling out his wand again. "I shall send them to The Burrow to await us there. However, I would like you to bring your Invisibility Cloak ... just in case."
Harry extracted his Cloak from his trunk with some difficulty, trying not to show Dumbledore the mess within, though he felt a little excited. When he had stuffed it into an inside pocket of his jacket, Dumbledore waved his wand, and the trunk, cage, and Hedwig vanished. Dumbledore then waved his wand again, and the front door opened onto cool, misty darkness.
"And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure." Harry couldn't contain the excitement coursing through him. He was finally going to The Burrow to spend his summer there with everyone, especially the one he had been eager to see again.