Deliver for the death eaters

Chapter 1

They say there is nothing more dangerous and lethal than boredom, especially when a certain sixteen-year-old resident of Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, was involved. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, had just survived the first week of the summer holidays back at the house of his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia by doing his chores and staying out of their hair but very soon, the grieving young man found himself feeling extremely alone. This lonesome feeling bloomed very quickly into boredom. And for those who knew him well enough, a bored Harry Potter was a ball of pure chaos.

Chaos that, if left undirected and unmonitored, would do the first thing that came into his head. On this particular evening, while reading one of his schoolbooks for what felt like the millionth time and mulling over about the moments, he wished he had with his recently deceased godfather Sirius Black, Harry Potter had gotten a brilliantly evil idea. It was a good thing Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were at a dinner party because Harry knew he would be in the beating of his life if they found out what he was planning.

Dudley was out with his friends, to the movies apparently, which meant Harry was alone in the house, left to his own devices. The young wizard left his room, went downstairs, and rang the number Hermione had once given him. Harry hoped to Merlin and Morgana Hermione would pick up quickly because he wanted to have this done before the Dursleys came back.

Fortunately, the line picked up after three bleeps.

"Hello, Granger residence?" the tentative voice of Hermione rang out on the other end of the line.

"Hermione, it's me," Harry grinned.

"Oh, Harry, thank goodness! How did you manage to get to the phone? Where are your aunt and uncle?" Hermione quizzed.

"My family are all out for the night," Harry answered with a small smile. "We have been keeping out of each other's hair. Good thing too."

Hermione sighed. She knew him too well by now. "Oh no. You're bored, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted. He could not lie to his sister-in-all-but-name.

"What are you planning?" Hermione dared to ask.

"I am not so sure yet, but I was thinking of maybe pranking someone," Harry grinned. "I am a child of a Marauder, was the godchild of another – I might as well use some of that to have some fun! It is what Sirius would have wanted ..."

"I think so too," Hermione was reluctant to admit. "So, what kind of prank are you thinking about doing? Maybe you should contact Fred and George for some ideas?"

"Well, I was thinking about maybe sending something to our favourite little Slytherin," Harry grinned evilly. "After all, his father has been put into Azkaban – he needs something to cheer him up."

"Are you trying to get Draco Malfoy to hire Hit Wizards to kill you?" Hermione asked deadpan.

"Hermione, Voldie is having issues with killing me; they can bloody well try their best!" Harry snorted. "Besides, he doesn't have to know it was from me!"

Hermione sighed. "Harry, you're going to send a note with it. I know you."

Harry couldn't argue there. "So ... you don't happen to know how I can find out where the Malfoys live?"

It was Hermione's turn to snort with laughter. "Harry, their Manor house is in several of our history books. Not that you would know since you didn't bother to open one. They live in Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire. Always have, since 1066."

"Hmmm," Harry hummed, taking the information in. He then lit up. "Hermione, do you think there is a McDonald's or some other fast food restaurant in Wiltshire."