Harry Potter and the Return of the Parents

Chapter 9: Homecoming

Thirty miles away, in a small house in Surrey, sat a fifteen-year-old boy who was not so happy.

Harry Potter was slumped against his bedroom window, watching raindrops slide sluggishly down the glass. Had he the effort to glance at the clock, he would see he had been doing so for nearly forty minutes. Instead, however, his gaze was focussed upon one particular raindrop, which had stubbornly clung to its place on the window for nearly as long as he had. Harry wondered bitterly whether it too was waiting on word from Dumbledore.

It had been around fourteen hours since he was attacked by Dementors, in which time he had received exactly four letters, one howler, and zero reassurance that things were going to be okay. He had not even received responses to the hasty notes penned to Ron, Hermione and Sirius.

His only solace was that he was not, of yet, expelled from Hogwarts. The thought alone was enough to make him shudder. Without Hogwarts he had nothing: no family; no friends, since they would surely forget him once he were no longer their classmate; no home, since there was no way he could stay with the Dursleys knowing summer's end brought no escape.

He supposed he could join Sirius as an outcast. The idea was of marginal comfort, but truthfully his godfather could be anywhere in the world and Harry had no way of joining him.

More raindrops overtook his stationary one.

A sharp rap on the door had Harry straightening in surprise, back cracking in protest at the sudden movement. His heart jolted in anticipation, but the opening of the door revealed no long, white beard – just an oversized moustache.

"What do you want?" Harry intoned, as the rest of his uncle's large form traipsed in. He stopped just inside the door with a nervous glance to the scattering of spell books and magical objects across the floor. If the narrowing of his eyes was a response to Harry's insolent tone, Vernon Dursley wisely chose not to comment.

"We're heading out" he said brusquely. "You are not to leave this room. There'll be no 'funny business' while we're gone."

Harry said nothing.

"I'm locking the door," the older man continued, clearly uncomfortable with the lack of reaction. "We might not be back for a few days."

Harry stared blankly at his uncle, and tried to decide whether he should care. Then he remembered he didn't.

"Okay," he said finally.

Vernon nodded and hesitated a second longer, as though wanting his nephew to ask where they were going. When Harry didn't, he nodded again and made his way out of the door.

Before it could close, the moustache appeared once more.

"We're going to a garden competition," Vernon said gruffly. "We won."

The door clicked shut and Harry heard the lock twisting, followed by the sound of voices making their way out to the drive. Turning back to the window, he watched his only living relatives drive away, and felt the silence of total solitude settle across the house.

When his gaze focussed back on the glass, his raindrop had slipped away.

***

Lily and James spent the day like a pair of skittish horses, too filled with nervous energy to observe one activity for any length of time. They listened to the adults discuss current affairs, played games of exploding snap with the children and explored the hidden corners of the old townhouse, all with one eye on the clock. By the time evening finally deigned to show its face, Arthur must have answered a hundred questions about Harry's travel plans, and Molly had made twice that many cups of tea.