Geplaatst They were all standing on the roof of Hogwarts’ Astronomy Tower: Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of the school, cornered by six Death Eaters including Severus Snape and Draco Malfloy. Harry Potter was watching the scene from under his Invisibility Cloak, Frozen only a few moments before.
Dumbledore looked completely exhausted, begging Snape.
‘Severus … Please …’
But to Harry’s horror, Snape lifted his wand, pointed it directly at Dumbledore’s heart and shouted: ‘Avada Kedavra!’
Dumbledore was hit in the chest by the jet of green light that had emerged from Snape’s wand. He was blasted into the air and fell slowly backwards off the battlements.
Harry screamed and found himself sitting up straight in his bed; he wasn’t at Hogwarts, but in his bedroom in the house of his aunt and uncle in number 4, Privet Drive.
His pyjamas were soaked with his own cold sweat. Harry was shaking from lightning-scarred head to toe.
It was that very same Killing Curse that had given Harry the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead when Lord Voldemort had tried to kill him almost sixteen years ago.
Only then, the Curse had bounced off, almost killing Voldemort.
But then, more than a month ago, this Curse had killed Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts’ School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Ever since, Harry had had this dream every night. Always just lying there. Always seeing Dumbledore being killed. It was as though his brain wanted to punish him for weakening him that very same evening, by letting him drink a potion in which lay a very valuable thing – one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes.
Harry was tired of having these dreams. With a sigh, he got out of bed and walked over to his open window. There was still some fog hanging over the country – the Dementors were still multiplying – but that didn’t got rid of the heat.
Very few people came out these days, if it wasn’t for the heat, is was for the threatening danger that hung over the whole country like the fog. Although the Muggles didn’t know anything about the Wizarding World, let alone they would know about a Dark wizard named Lord Voldemort, whose name nobody dared to speak out loud.
When Harry went back to bed, he heard a familiar soaring sound. He jumped over his bed and looked out of the window. The sky was dotted with its many stars and straight ahead of him, Harry saw the silhouet of an owl approaching.
‘Hedwig!’, he said, surprised. He hadn’t expected her until tomorrow evening.
‘You’ve got an answer?”, Harry asked hopefully. Sitting on his arm, she stretched out her left leg, so Harry could take the note. He sat down on the bed and opened the letter.
Harry,
If it’s okay by you, we will come and get you at your aunt and uncle’s house. If it’s not okay by you – well, we’ll come and get you anyway. We will be there at 8 pm. Make sure all your things are packed.
See you tomorrow,
Lupin
Suddenly, Harry felt weird. This was his last night at the Dursleys’ house. His last night – ever. Tomorrow he would turn seventeen and in the Wizarding world, at that age, you are officially an adult. And that meant he didn’t have to live with the Dursleys anymore.
But where he would stay after today? He didn’t know.
When Harry woke up the next morning, he saw the letter from Luping lying on his bedside table. And again, he felt that same weird feeling. He wouldn’t miss the Dursleys, but still, they were his only family left.
As he went downstairs, he promised himself he wouldn’t forget to tell the Dursleys he would leave tonight, like he had done last year.
He entered the kitchen and said good morning to Aunt Petunia, who was frying the bacon, Uncle Dursley, who sat at the dining table, hiding behind his newspaper, and his nephew Dudley, who sat on his chair (which was too small, so both sides of his buttocks stuck out, almost letting disappear the chair) with his fork in one hand and his knife in his other; screaming: ‘What’s taking you so long? I want my bacon!’
Harry sat down and poored in a glass of orange juice, which was taken by Dudley, so he filled another one for himself.
He cleared his throat when they were all four seated at the square table.
‘Ehm … I’m leaving tonight’, he began. Nobody seemed to listen. ‘I said I’m leaving – definitely’, he added, as loud as possible.
That word seemed to work on the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon looked up from his paper, staring at Harry, Aunt Petunia sprinkled the table with the coffee she had been drinking, and Dudley just looked at him, eyes wide open, a strap of bacon dangling out of his mouth.
‘Y-you are?’, Aunt Petunia muttered.
‘Of course he is!’, Uncle Vernon shouted, though it wasn’t as convincing as it always was.
Dudley was still staring at him, now dropping the strap of bacon.
‘Yeah, I am. Lupin – an old friend of my dad – is coming. He said I’d have to pack all of my stuff.’
‘Oh’, Aunt Petunia sighed.
Harry drank his juice and stood up from his seat. He was too excited to eat.
‘Well, I’m going to pack. Got a lot of work to do.’ He didn’t know why he added that last thing.
But when he had reached the kitchen door, Aunt Petunia made a feeble attempt to clear her throat. ‘Eh … Harry?’, she said weakly.
Harry stepped back a few paces so he faced his aunt.
‘Yeah?’
‘Eh … happy birthday’, she said even more weakly, but she managed to show him a little smile.
Harry was stunned.
This was the first time in sixteen years somebody in this house had wished him a happy birthday.
Harry finished packing at 6 p.m. It wasn’t like packing for Hogwarts, not at all. This time he had to take everything. Everything within his bedroom he owned (and, he had to be honest, also a couple of Dudley’s old things he had nicked in the last couple of years). It was very weird to see his bedroom like this: no self-repaired alarm clock on his bedside table, no pictures of his parents on the walls, nothing.
After two hours waiting, finally, he heard the doorbell ring. He ran out of his room, jumped off the stairs, but somebody had already opened the door. Aunt Petunia.
‘Good evening, Petunia’, Lupin said politely.
‘Good evening, Remus.’
Harry stared at Aunt Petunia. She knew him? He knew her?
When Lupin caught sight of Harry, he smiled broadly.
‘Harry! How are you? Got everything packed?’
‘Yeah, I think so …’, he muttered.
Aunt Petunia proceeded to the living room and Lupin and Harry followed them.
‘Sit down, sit down’, she offered. She was obviously more comfortable than that morning. ‘Do you want anything to drink? Glass of wine? Beer?’
Lupin thought a few seconds and then said: ‘I’ll have a glass of red wine. What about you, Harry?’ he looked over to him, very relaxed. ‘This is your last evening in this house, I’d better enjoy it!’
Enjoy it? Enjoy it? Like he had ever enjoyed an evening at the Dursleys’ house!
‘I’ll just have a coke, thanks’, he said politely.
What was this all about? Where were Dudley and Uncle Vernon? Why was Aunt Petunia so politely? Were they, finally, after sixteen years, accepting that Harry was in their house?
Aunt Petunia brought a tray with three drinks and a scale with potato chips.
‘To which honour are we drinking? That I’m finally leaving, after sixteen years?’ Harry heard himself ask with a voice as sharp as a knife.
Aunt Petunia looked like she had just been hit in the face.
‘W-well, this is your last evening here, right?’ she said uncertainly.
It was a very weird evening. Lupin and Aunt Petunia talked half an hour, about ordinary things – the weather, for example.
But after that, everything they could talk about, had already been talked about and a silence fell.
Then, Lupin began to speak again.
‘So, Harry. You ready?’, he asked.
‘Yeah, all my bags are upstairs in my room. Shall I get them?’
‘That would be a good idea. In the meantime, I’ll wait here with Petunia, we still have some things to say.’
Not understanding what Lupin could possibly mean, Harry ran upstairs and carried the bags downstairs. It took him 15 minutes to bring all four bags downstairs. When he entered the living room, Lupin and Aunt Petunia were sitting in a two person-sofa, facing each other, both looking a little bit tense.
Harry cleared his throat to announce his presence and said: ‘Er – Lupin? I’m ready.’
Confused, Lupin stood up and looked at Harry. ‘Of course. We’ll send these straight to the Headquarters.’ He tapped the pile of bags and trunks two times with his wand and instantly, they disappeared all four.
‘The Headquarters? There’s a new Headquarter?’, Harry asked, amazed. But Lupin just ignored him and walked back into the living room. He faced Petunia.
‘So … I guess this is it …’, he said, a little bit uncomfortable.
‘I guess so’, Harry said, at least as uncomfortable as Lupin.
Aunt Petunia stood there and watched Harry. He could se her eyes getting wetter and wetter. She pulled out a white handkerchief and blew her nose.
‘Oh Harry … you’re always welcome here’ – Harry doubted that – ‘and forgive me the times I’ve been nasty and mean to you’ – why should he? – ‘and … oh!’
She began to cry. Harry stood there, pinned to the floor. Aunt Petunia? Crying? This couldn’t be happening. This was probably just one of his nasty dreams.
But it wasn’t.
Seconds later, Aunt Petunia hugged Harry so tightly, she reminded him at Mrs Weasley.
Uneasy, he put his arms around her back, too.
And then, they let loose.
‘Come on, Harry, it’s time to go’, Lupin said softly.
‘Bye, Aunt Petunia. Thanks for all the years you let me live here.’ He couldn’t help feeling a bit sad too.
She stood in front of the door and waved at him while they walked the street.
Finally, when they were out of sight, Lupin talked again.
‘Now, Harry, I don’t think it’s safe to let you Apparate on your own. Just grab my arm tight and hold on, okay?’
‘But where are we go – ‘, he began, but Lupin interrupted him. ‘Later, Harry. Just do what I say.’
Harry grabbed hold of Lupin’s right upper arm with his left hand, just as he had done a year before with Dumbledore. But the thought of Dumbledore made his eyes prickling and wet. He grabbed Lupin’s upper arm more tightly.
‘You ready?’
Harry pinched with his left hand and nodded.
‘Hold on, here we go.’
All of a sudden, the Privet Drive was replaced by darkness. Harry felt a huge pressure on every single part of his body and he couldn’t breathe. And then, as quick as it had come, the darkness was replaced by a new scene. A quite familiar scene …
They stood in the middle of a place, surrounded by houses with broken windows, houses with paint peeling of the front door, and houses where the trash bags were piled up so high you couldn’t even get to the front door.
They were back at number 12, Grimmauld Place.
Als er spelfouten in staan, houd er dan wel rekening mee dat ik niet Engels ben ofzo
Maar ik wil wel commentaar over het schrijven en de inhoud
, IK kom er weer helemaal in Het verhaal. Heb sinds een paar weken HP 6 uit, dus ik blijf dit zeker volgen, wacht met smart op het volgende stuk 
