Storm Clouds

Harry's P.O.V.

We’d landed quite far away from our destination, due to the fact that we didn't actually know exactly where he lived. Well, we did - we had his address (I didn’t want to ask Dumbledore how he’d got it) - but we didn’t know where it was. So we brought a map, hoping it would help - except none of us were too good at reading maps and we ended up walking in the wrong direction for a while. That was annoying, but it was surprising in a good way to finally see something Dumbledore wasn't good at.

Eventually, Hermione, who’d apparently taken orienteering, took over, irritated, and found the way.

Of course.

When even Albus Dumbledore can’t help you, you go to Hermione Granger.

When they agreed to her plan, she stepped back, satisfied, and ended up tripping over someone’s skateboard, so the guy on it had to catch her.

He interrupted her rambling to tell her it was okay, but it was only when he gave a lazy grin and cracked a joke that I managed to get a proper look at him.

He looked like an American me: perfect tan, couple of inches taller, no glasses, messy hair with a fringe that fell over his eyes, and evidently built.
The others laughed as Hermione blushed, then Dumbledore brought our attention back to our map. I looked back to see he was skating away now, slightly long hair ruffling in the breeze.

The Headmaster decided it would be easier to just Apparate there instead, so we stepped into a small alley away from Muggle eyes, and, with a crack, disappeared.

We ended up outside an average American apartment building. I had to admit, I was sort of disappointed. I’d kinda imagined him as living a dark, gloomy, dusty manor, sort of like Malfoy Manor, one that seemed to radiate evil and despair. After all, it would be fitting, wouldn’t it?

‘‘Well,’’ Dumbledore said, breaking the silence, ‘‘this should be fairly simple. They live on the top floor.’’

‘‘What a coincidence,’’ Ron muttered under his breath. ‘‘The one floor nobody will be bothered to walk up to. Where they’ll be able to throw people of the balcony.’’

I was glad to hear that my best friend shared the same opinion as me. Hermione was wary of meeting this grandson, too, but she advised us to give him a chance. It was only fair, she said.

But I can’t do that. There’s no way I’m going to get along with him. So I’ve decided to just stay quiet. Okay, Hermione told me to. But that’s basically the same thing, since she always tells us what to do.

Once we were at the top, Dumbledore rang the doorbell.

‘‘Coming!’’ came a woman’s voice. It sounded warm and kind and soft. No way.

After a moment of footsteps, the locked clicked open and the door opened.

In the doorway was a middle-aged woman. She had a kind smile and her eyes were crinkled with laugh lines.
I stood confused for a moment, before coming to the only logical solution. We must be at the wrong house. I opened my mouth to say so but Dumbledore spoke before I had the chance.

‘‘Hello, would you happen to be Ms Sally Jackson?’’ he asked politely.

She nodded. ‘‘Yes, but I’m married now. I go by Mrs Blofis,’’ she said.

How could she be married? Who’d want to marry the daughter of the most evil man in existence? She had to be lying.

‘‘Of course, my sincerest apologies, Mrs Blofis,’’ Dumbledore corrected himself. ‘‘We’ve come to talk to your son, Perseus.’’