𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 | 𝐡. 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝟏𝟑𝟒 - 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐬

𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎 - 𝙵𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝟾𝟻% 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍'𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢, 𝙸 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢.

𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙠𝙚 𝙪𝙥 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚'𝙙 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚'𝙙 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙙, and after a hearty breakfast where he could see both of his parents exuberant and charmed with one another's company as they poured one another cups of tea and filled up one another's plate, he didn't want to break their heart by running away but what choice did he have really -- there was a target on his back the size of London and anyone close to him would no doubt be caught in the crossfire.

He'd rather go about this alone, but he knew that a. Ophelia wouldn't let him, b. as long as Ophelia was going then so was Ron and Hermione and c. if he was completely honest with himself he needed them because d. he didn't have a first clue to look for any of the other Horcruxes.

He shuffled about his bedroom still in his pyjamas as he overheard the radio playing down below in the house, he peered through the crack to see his mum and dad dancing in their socks and dressing-gowns like they were at a waltz, he smiled to himself before turning back into his room, where he left his trunk -- he had moved most of it when he had come in but now it was tedious, throwing away the useless items, and sort the remainder in piles according to whether or not he would need them from now on.

His school and Quidditch robes, cauldron, parchment, quills, and most of his textbooks were piled in a corner, to be left behind. His Muggle clothing, Invisibility Cloak, potion-making kit, certain books, the photograph album Hagrid had once given him, a stack of letters, and his wand which he couldn't decide belonged in his trousers or in his old rucksack. In a front pocket were the Marauder's Map, the two-way mirror Sirius had given him that he had carefully wrapped in his scarf and his photo of him and Ophelia grinning at the camera, he thumbed over her picture feeling his heart leap as he realised he'd get to see her again soon.

This left a sizable stack of newspapers sitting on his desk beside his snowy owl, Hedwig: one for each of the days Harry had spent at his home this summer, all delivered to his pseudonym Roonil Wazlib.

He got up off the floor, stretched, and moved across to his desk. Hedwig made no movement as he began to flick through the newspapers, throwing them onto the rubbish pile one by one. The owl was asleep, or else faking; she was angry with Harry about the limited amount of time she was allowed out of her cage at the moment.

As he neared the bottom of the pile of newspapers, Harry slowed down, searching for one particular issue that he knew had arrived shortly after he had returned to Privet Drive for the summer; he remembered that there had been a small mention on the front about the resignation of Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts. At last he found it. Turning to page ten, he sank into his desk chair and reread the article he had been looking for.