The Assassin

The Assassin - Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Perched on top of the house across the street from the Dursley's residence, Harry Potter observed the quiet street that was shrouded in darkness. His eyes wandering over the landscape below as they adjusted to the lower visibility the rising moon permeated. The yellowish glow from lights within households illuminated the street, along with the orange tinge from the many street lamps lined along the paths. Harry's eyes were trained on the window that looked in to the living room of 4 Privet Drive. Within, Petunia Dursley laid on the couch watching the television. The flickering fluorescent lights emitting from the boxy device illuminated the semi-dark room.

A set of headlights from an annoyingly loud car turned in to the top of the street, illuminating the dark shadows as it rumbled along slowly. Harry instantly knew it without looking that was the sports car Vernon owned that was slowly approaching, extremely familiar with the sound of the irritating vehicle. However, he was not the only one familiar with the low rumbling. Petunia shot up from where she was laying comfortable, scrambling to turn the television off and hastily make her way into the kitchen. Harry knew that she feared being on the end of either of Vernon's or Dudley's wrath, he knew what it was like first hand.

The car pulled into the driveway and shut off moments later. Two large men hopped out of the car, the vehicle instantly lifting a few centimetres up from the ground once the heavy humans exited. The two made their way inside, heading to the back of the house ready for their dinner to be served to them like ravenous kings. Harry got comfortable in his position on the roof, knowing he needed to wait until the streets were fully covered in darkness and the residents of Privet Drive had settled in for the night. He would wait all night if he had too, taking advantage of the right time to go in his favour.

While he waited patiently, his mind couldn't help but wonder to the past. Remembering why he was here and all of the pain he had experienced. Harry couldn't remember much of his time with his parents before they were killed. His first and earliest memories being trapped inside a cupboard, hardly sleeping in fear of the door being opened and the abuse beginning. He remembered how he would have to make breakfast and lunch from a young age, gaining kitchen skills through trial and error. Making food to the exact liking of the abhorrent family. Flashes of fists flying at him, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the painful phantom bruises resurfacing in his skin.

Harry couldn't help but experience the exact same feelings as those terrifying memories re-emerged. All of the abuse he had faced in those few years forever effecting him, changing the way he had lived. He hated to think what would have been of him if he had continued to live there instead of being found on the streets that fateful night. He knew for a fact the abuse would have only worsened. Vernon had enthusiastically encouraged his son to contribute to the physical abuse from a young age. Looking at the size of his grown cousin and the mean streak he had at school, he knew he wouldn't have survived much longer in their 'care'. Between the mental abuse from them all, plus the emotional neglect, he would have been dependant on any show of affection or sympathy from anyone he met.

His attention was drawn back to the present as he noticed all three of his relatives had made their way into the living room. He watched as Vernon immediately snatched the television remote from the coffee table and sat back in his chair in the corner of the room. Dudley took his usual position on the couch, spreading out and half hanging off as he laid down. Petunia tiredly sat in the other chair that sat closer to the window, her body out of view from this angle. Harry knew his time was approaching to strike as he watched the family relax for the evening.

Time seemed to go by slowly as he watched every small movement with hawk like eyes. To occupy his racing mind, he pulled out of the new throwing knives from its sheath of his ankle. He absentmindedly twirled it on the tip of his left pointer finger, ignoring the slightly pain it caused. Harry noticed the fidgeting with his knife calmed his busy mind, clearing it of the intrusive thoughts. His eyes scoured the street below, looking through the small amount of windows where curtains were opened. Observing that majority of occupants had already either gone to bed or were quietly watching their favourite television programs.