The Rules Of Chess

From a distance, his appearance wasn't much to look at; a scrawny boy, with
a thin face and an unruly mop of untamable hair, but upon closer inspection,
he wasn't half bad looking at all. Quite the contrary, he possessed a
strange kind of beauty, with his strong jaw and radiant green eyes, which
were lit with some sort of inner glow-pride, one might assume. A thin,
flesh-colored scar was etched into his forehead, peeking out from under a
fringe of thick, black bangs. His glasses, which looked almost ancient, sat
askew on his sweating nose, threatening to slip off and shatter on the
sidewalk at any given moment.

The boy wrapped his browned hands around a tangle of weeds growing amid a
circle of tulips and gave a small grunt as he pulled them out. With his
right hand, he flung them aside, into a growing pile of junk and unwanted
grass, and with his left arm, he quickly wiped the beads of sweat dripping
into his eyes. After a few silent moments of rigorous pulling and tossing,
he let out a huge sigh and fell backwards onto the fresh lawn, closing his
eyes and inhaling deeply as he savored his short period of relaxation.

Sure enough, only seconds later, a shrill voice pierced the silence that he
had so eagerly welcomed. "Potter!You had better be finished with that
garden by now, or you won't get your lunch!"

A bony, horse-faced woman, who was at the moment livid with rage, stormed
out of the house, a sheet of paper clutched in her fist. "Did you hear me,
you ungrateful rat? If you want your meal, go inside before I shut the door
in your smirking face. Did you hear me? Nephew or not, Harry Potter, I will
not tolerate your rudeness!"

Startled by the sudden outburst, which had been harsh even for his Aunt,
Harry dropped his shovel and strode hastily inside, inconspicuously wiping
his muddy hands on the inside of his oversized T-shirt.

The slamming of the door and noisy footsteps indicated his Aunt's arrival
back inside the house. Not wanting to be the target of her bad mood again,
he scurried into the kitchen, grabbed his meager lunch (a slice of yellow
cheese and a hunk of ham smashed hastily between two stale pieces of bread),
and made his ungraceful retreat back into his room (His overweight cousin,
Dudley, had been pacing the hallway upstairs, which he now did each day for
five minutes as his 'cardiovascular exercise')

As he looked around the bare room, he took in the few, but unusual, details
of it. A heavy-looking chestnut colored trunk was wedged into a tight
corner, the bristles of a broomstick sticking out from behind it. A thin,
dusty stick of black wood was flung carelessly on his desk, next to a pot of
black ink and a feather quill. His darting eyes finally settled on his bed,
where a snowy white owl lay perched, a paper bag grasped firmly in its beak.

"Hedwig!" Harry noted, a surprised look spreading across his face at the
first welcome sight he had had all day. He broke off a portion of the
sandwich, letting his owl nibble on it before turning his attention to the
paper bag.

A thick sheaf of letters, all with Harry's name on the front, but in various
degrees of messiness, spilled out.

He picked up one of the letters gingerly with his index finger and thumb,
not wanting to smear mud over the crisp white envelope. Making a small noise
of impatience, he dropped the letter and critically studied his
mud-encrusted hands before slipping out of his room, careful to avoid
Dudley, who was still trundling through the halls.

"Just what I need...risking meeting up with Aunt Petunia again," Harry
muttered heatedly to himself as he tip-toed quietly down the stairs and
crossed the dining room, eyes trained straight ahead.

Strangely enough, his Uncle Vernon wasn't seated at the table, eating his
usual lunch of meatballs and chicken, as he usually was at such an hour.
Instead, all that met him was a bare dining table, with a single piece of
folded paper sitting in the middle. Curiosity overpowering his cautiousness,
he grabbed the paper, stuffed it into his pocket, and sprinted to the
bathroom on the other side of the dining room.

Turning on the tap, he gave his hands a rough wash before drying them with a
purple towel hanging from a nearby rack. Then, his heart beating in his
ears, he stole back into his bedroom, unnoticed by any occupant in the
Drive stirred, until Harry Potter emerged from his room, a disturbed and
pale look on his face.

* * * * *

(A Few Hours Later)
Harry let out a low growl and flipped over on his stomach so that the side
of his face pressed against the pillow and he could see the glowing numbers
on his luminescent alarm clock.

Upon seeing the time, he let out another groan, louder than the previous,
and squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to go back to sleep.

When that, inevitably, failed, he sat up slowly in his bed, careful not to
make it creak too much, and swung his legs over the sides. He groped blindly
around his desk until he bumped into his glasses. Shoving them on, he picked
up his wand.

"Lumos," he said. A small circle of light, just enough to read by,
momentarily blinded him. "Accio letters." A whoosh of wind past his
ear...then, a soft flump as a brown paper bag landed on the pillow next to
him. Almost mechanically, he pulled out the letters, feeling his heart sag
as he unsnapped the elastic rubber band that held them together.

"I guess I'll review these again...and see if I can get any more depressed,"
he whispered, his voice tinged with sarcasm. He pulled out the worn piece of
parchment from the ripped envelope that he had opened only a few hours ago.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Harry,
Don't come to the Burrow this summer. Dad's disappeared. I don't reckon
you'll hear from me anytime soon. It's no use writing back.


Ron

------------------------------------------

Hi Harry,
Have you heard from Ron yet? He's a bit down-(Harry snorted loudly at the
understatement) and I don't blame him at all. I bet it's You-Know-Who that
got Mr. Weasley...we can just hope that he's still alive. I'm doing
fine-none of those phony predictions that Trelawny made has happened yet.
Make sure to do your homework Harry, and don't do anything you will
regret-DON'T GO OUT LOOKING FOR MR. WEASLEY. I know you're wondering what
the answer to number two on our Potions assignment is-it's Brazentongue.
Consider it a small gift from me to help your summer (Harry couldn't help
but smile a bit-it was exactly like Hermione to know which questions he had
difficulty with)

Love, Hermione

---------------------------------------------------------------------
Mr. Harold James Potter- From the Desk of the Minister of Magic

For your own safety, and the safety of others, it will serve you will to
remember not to spread rumors on the rise of You-Know-Who. Your
insecurities, need for attention, and crazed mind should not influence the
work and lives of the many other wizards in the world. You will be reminded
that none of your past behaviors is to be accepted on your coming term at
Hogwarts. A similar letter has been owled to Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.
Good day, and a pleasant summer to you.


Cornelius Fudge
313th Minister of Magic
Order of Merlin, First Class
---------------------------------------------------------------------


Harry,
I'm back in the country. Things are urgent-top secret, but Albus needs me
right now. I trust you'll watch your back. Cedric's parents have gotten over
the initial shock of Cedric's death-they forgive you, Harry, and you must
know that nothing is your fault (How did he know what I was thinking? Harry
wondered). I promise I'll take care of you. Watch out for anything
suspicious, and write me constantly so I'll know everything's alright.

Your lovable mutt,

Snuffles


Harry slowly shuffled the letters back into the bag, and brought out the
last piece of bad news-in the form of a letter that he had found on the
Dursleys' dining table.

------------------------------------------------------

Mr. &Mrs. Dursley
Number 4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging,
Surrey

It is with our deepest sympathies and greatest sorrow that we inform you
that Grunnings is to be closed down. Due to lack of business, uninterest,
and money shortage, we are forced to lay off all our workers and partners.
Your Grunnings' stock account of approximately 5,000 dollars has been
deleted and is now lost, and the company car you have borrowed is to be
returned at the old Grunnings office tomorrow by noon.
Our sorrows are yours.


Harry didn't bother to read the long list of fancy signatures and names that
filled the bottom half of the paper. Instead, he flipped immediately to the
backside, where, written in Uncle Vernon's immaculate handwriting was

Petunia-
I don't know if we have the money to stay within budget. You know how much
it is to keep everything running and paid for on Privet Drive. I need to
find a new job, but chances are slim. Things will need to be sold. I have a
bidder on our house already, and I entrust you the task of organizing a
garage sale for our unnecessary belongings, including Dudley's things and
ours.
All my love,
Vernon Dursley.

"No wonder he wasn't home today," Harry said slowly to himself, realizing
what he hadn't realized earlier in his former despair. "And that's why Aunt
Petunia looked so stricken earlier..."

He looked forlornly at his bedspread for a split second before shrugging.
"Oh well, not that it means anything to me...if anything, it'll be fun
watching Dudley go for a day without a Playstation or his big-screen TV..."
He grinned evilly at the prospect. His light mood dropped in an instant as
he remembered what Ron had written in his letter.

Dad's disappeared...I'll bet You-Know-Who had something to do with it...
Harry shook his head slightly as the same haunting words kept surfacing in
his mind. "I can't do anything about it," he reminded himself. More to keep
him busy than anything else, he pulled out a piece of parchment from under
his pillow, dipped his feather quill into the pot of ink, and began scribbling out letters.

The sun rose slowly at 5:00 the next day, greeting a tired-looking Harry
Potter, who had just sent Hedwig out with a stack of letters. Almost
immediately after he shut his window, he flopped onto his bed and dozed off.
In the distance, gaining speed rapidly, was a small white owl, carrying a
worn brown paper sack between its beak. The letters in the bag were
addressed to various recipients, ending with a barely legible note to the
Ministry.


Ron,
I know you told me not to write you, but since when have I been someone who
listened to what other people told me to do? Don't worry too much about your
dad, Dumbledore'll have him back in no time. Sirius wrote me yesterday-he's
back. I hope he watches himself and doesn't get caught-that would be a
disaster. The Dursleys have gone bankrupt (well, kind of), and they're
selling the house. That should give you a laugh...maybe Dudley'll actually
lose some weight now that they don't have all that much money to buy food
now. Great, even less for me. I reckon I'll see you at Diagon Alley when we
get supplies.
Harry

----------------------------------------------------

Hermione,
Thanks for the answer, I really needed that. I just wrote Ron, and he'd
better write me back, that git, even though he said he wouldn't. Have you
seen Krum over vacation? Write back with more news, and maybe a copy or two
of the Daily Prophet. It would help if I could keep up with the wizarding
world.
Harry

---------------------------------------------------------------

My lovable mutt, Snuffles,
What are you doing back in country? Its dangerous!
Harry
P.S-Go away while you still can!
----------------------------------------------------------------

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic,

I wasn't making up any of the things that happened last year. If you are to
be as thick as you are acting, the wizard world will be destroyed in a
matter of seconds. You-Know-Who is back, as I'm sure the Headmaster has told
you. Just you wait and see.
Sincerely, Harry Potter

P.S-I don't find trouble, trouble finds me, so don't hope for much out of my
behavior next year.
Sincerely,

The Boy Who Lived

* * * * *

"Do we have to?" Dudley whined, staring up at his mother with tearful eyes.
"I'm sorry, Diddy Duddykins, but we can't leave it by itself-we must keep
away as she let out a loud sniff and wiped away a few tears trickling down
her wrinkled skin.

"Yes, I am the 'it'," Harry muttered sadistically under his breath as
Petunia finally managed to get Dudley under control.

"We'd better get going," Vernon grunted, tapping his foot impatiently as his
wife finished dusting imaginary dirt off Dudley's wide bottom.

Petunia immediately stopped what she was doing, looked up fearfully, and
scampered out of the house, Dudley at her tail. Vernon shot a deathly look
at Harry, who looked back at him with a mock innocent smile glued onto his
face.

"What?"

As his Uncle's face began turning rapidly purple, Harry decided it best for
his health to follow his Aunt Petunia's example, and dashed quickly out the
open door. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were already seated in an old
stationwagon (Vernon had returned the company car the day before), with
Petunia in the front and Dudley in the back, barely leaving room for Harry.

He struggled to squish into the miniscule space that Dudley didn't take up,
and failing miserably as the door slammed on his toe when he attempted to
slam it shut. Vernon whipped around and instantly began yelling at Harry.
"Boy, be grateful for what we gave you, out of the little we still have!" he
roared, slamming his hand down on the steering wheel to punctuate his point.
Next to him, cowering in the corner, Aunt Petunia attempted to emulate him,
slapping her hand on the dashboard, then wincing in pain.

Swallowing as hard as he could, Harry shoved himself into Dudley's bulky
side and pulled the door shut, just as Dudley shifted in his seat, smacking
Harry's face right into the window.

And so, the junky station wagon pulled out of the still prim looking Number
Four Privet Drive, with four people in tow; a beefy man, with a red face,
taking off down the road at unbelievable speeds, a skinny woman with eyes
glued shut in pain as she held on tight to the seatbelt, a massive boy in
the backseat, looking perfectly contented as he munched on a half-melted
candy bar he found under the seat, and a small, black haired boy, face
turned sideways and stuck to the car window.

"Yes Mr. Dursley, eight-hundred dollars a month," the real estate agent said
lazily, checking his already-spotless fingernails.

Harry sighed. Not again.

"Don't you think I know that, you imbecile? I asked if there were any
discounts for-for-for-people like me!!!!" Vernon shouted, narrowing his eyes
in a menacing way. "If you're going to be that INCREDIBLY IDIOTIC, I'd be
just as well not purchasing from you, you GREAT BIG EXCUSE FOR A DONKEY!!"
Harry groaned inaudibly as the Dursleys, plus him, dragged themselves back
into the station wagon for the twentieth time that day.

Once back in the car, Vernon had calmed down a bit and had managed to
plaster a fake smile across his face. "Well, family, seems like this house
isn't-er-good enough for us. Let's just move on and see..." he held a copy
of 'The Weekly House Hunter' up to his nose and studied down the page,
finally jabbing his index finger at a shabby apartment on the bottom right
corner. "This ought to be nice...perfectly within budget, and so tastefully

Eagerly, Petunia pulled herself up next to him, anticipating the house,
before her face fell faster than a baking soufflé as she saw the dreary
little picture accompanying the lavish description below it (Beautiful, cozy
apartment in Seneca Rollings, Surrey, surrounded by a square of green
grass...)

Harry barely managed to smother his snort of laughter as Petunia settled
back into her seat, a sour pout across her sagging, prune-like skin.

* * * * *

A tree lashed out at his face, leaving a deep red welt where it had
connected across the milky white flesh. The brilliant white moon in the dark
sky shone undauntingly, it's pure whiteness holding its own even against the
downy snow coating the rocky terrain. A cruel gust of wind whipped through
the land, causing his threadbare jacket to flutter in the breeze. His breath
coming in ragged chokes now, he stopped and leaned heavily against an old
acorn tree, struggling cool the burning in his lungs. His arms hung limply
at his sides, his feet were slightly spread eagled, and he had a thin, bony
frame, giving him the appearance of a run down scarecrow with no crows to
scare away.

He ran a half-numbed hand through his thinning red hair, relishing the
slight warmth that came with the motion. Cupping his hands over his mouth,
he blew roughly, trying to keep his fingers from getting frostbitten.

His mind was in a strange sort of frenzy as it registered the past events.
He had been sitting at his desk, sipping coffee and browsing through reports
of harsh Muggle treatment when the sudden urge to take a walk had come
about. Dropping his coffee immediately into the trashbin, he had stood up,
and strode determinedly to the door. Once outside, he walked blindly through
the forest surrounding the Ministry of Magic Headquarters, not once looking
where he was going as he plunged further into the spreading darkness.

Through the pitch black, he could see a pinprick of red coming from within a
cluster of bushes, and then he had blacked out. When he had come to his
senses, he found himself sprawled over a mound of rubble, with a tingling
sensation lingering around his toes, fingertips, and cheeks.

After carefully observing his surroundings, he had gotten up and began
stumbling through the bitter coldness, desperate to find a way out of-out
of-wherever he was.

He lifted his brown eyes slowly to the navy blue sky, as if the answer to
his problems was illuminated in the stars. Slumping against the tree, he
allowed his body to slide to the ground, and let his overwhelming fatigue
take him away into the merciful blackness.

* * * * *

Things were rather dreary in the Weasley household. It was like a muffler
had been wrapped around the Burrow, isolating it from the rest of the
countryside.

Even the occasional howl and scream from the attic ghoul failed to startle
any member of the family or cause them to leave their train of thought.
Mrs. Weasley was staring off at the whitewashed wall as she slowly prodded a
pan of sausage with her wand, unaware of the burning smell that filled the
room.

Ron Weasley lay spread-eagled over his bright Chudley Cannons bedspread,
throwing a ball unenthusiastically into the air and failing to notice when
it came right down and smacked him on the nose.

Ginny Weasley sat slouching by her desk, head buried in her arms, muttering
fast and furious as she continued slumbering.

Fred and George Weasley were both locked up tight in their room, being
unnaturally still.

Bill Weasley wasn't home, but was currently moping around in his office at
Gringotts.

Charlie Weasley wasn't home either, but narrowly fell off a dragon he was
attempting to ride in his preoccupied state.

And Arthur Weasley was missing. His dial on the kitchen clock was rested on
'mortal peril', as it had been for the past three days. Ginny, Mrs. Weasley,
Ron, Fred, and George's dials were all smashed together on 'depression'.

Two new dials had been added onto the clock over the past year, one reading
'Harry Potter' and one 'Hermione Granger.' Both of those were rested
contentedly at 'home.'

* * * * *

"Well family, we're here," Vernon declared as brightly as he could, flinging
open the door and stepping in as if he were escorting the Queen of England
herself into the shabby apartment they had decided to rent.

Petunia's sharp eyes took in all the details of the drab room in a single
second, but clapped her hands together in forced joy as she stood on her
tip-toes to give her husband a peck on the cheek.

Dudley barely managed to squeeze through the narrow doorway, but finally
managed to enter the room (with a bit of help from Harry, who was right
behind him). "Is this it? We're gonna live here?" Dudley grunted, piggy eyes
filling rapidly with tears as he plopped his bottom onto a rickety chair
next to the wall. The chair's spindly legs wobbled dangerously, but held.
"Oh, Diddy Duddykins, it's okay. Mummy will fix it up and make it all better
for you, okay honey? Just give me a week and everything will be brand new,"
Petunia doted, giving Dudley an overexaggerated hug.

Harry wrinkled his nose at the scene. Even he had to admit that the house
was nothing short of downright shabby, but he held the thought to himself.
"I'm going to explore," he finally said tentatively to his Uncle, after a
few silent moments of standing awkwardly under the doorframe. Vernon grunted
loudly to acknowledge the statement, and promptly shoved Harry outside and
slammed the door shut.

"Thank you," Harry muttered sadistically under his breath as he strolled
easily down the sidewalk.

It was a beautiful day, despite the heat. The sky was a soft light blue,
with a few fluffy white clouds drifting about lazily. Birds trilled their
song atop the many oak trees surrounding the neighborhood, while squirrels
dashed around the base of the trees, cheeks stuffed with acorns.
Harry reached the end of the block, and took a left turn onto another
street, having no idea where he was going but just wanting to get as far
away from the Dursley's as possible. His Quidditch-honed eyes caught a
sharp, sudden movement from a nearby patch of bushes. Forcing a nonchalant
look on his face, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, whistling, while
pretending he hadn't noticed a thing.

Sure enough, as he walked a few more paces, he saw a small, lithe figure
dart out from the bushes and behind another bunch of vegetation. It
continued on in similar fashion until Harry had retraced his steps and ended
up on the Dursleys' street again.

He stopped dead in the middle of the street, an irritated look on his face.
"Look, I don't know who you are, but would you just please come out already?
Please?"

A small gasp split the air, and the rustling from behind a large fern frond
increased, as if the occupant were now shivering uncontrollably.
Harry watched interestedly as a messy brown head emerged from behind the
frond, followed by the pasty looking face of a young boy, obviously ruffled
by Harry's bluntness.

No words were exchanged between the two, but Harry could feel the boys blue
eyes upon him, studying.

"So, you de famous Harry Potter," the boy said hastily, shifting nervously
from side to side.

"Excuse me?"

"You de famous Harry Potter, right? De one dat defeated de Dark Lord and
saved our world? Aren't you? I can see your scar." The boy pointed brashly
at the thin, flesh colored scar beneath Harry's thick bangs.

Automatically, Harry's hand reached up to pull his bangs over the scar.
"Yes, I'm Harry. Who are you? Are you a wizard?"

"I'm Deodore, but my friends call me Deo-" the boy's face drooped
despairingly. "If I had any, that is."

"Your name's Deo?"

"No, its Deo," the boy repeated.

Harry wrinkled his nose, in deep thought before a small smile lit up his
features. "Oh, you mean Theodore, don't you?"

The boy, Theo, nodded eagerly. "Yea, my names Deo."

"How old are you, Theo?" Harry asked politely.

Theo flashed all ten of his fingers.

"Ten?"

Theo nodded, messy brown hair falling into his eyes.

"So, are you a wizard?" Harry pressed, feeling the boy quail under his
suspicious stare.

Theo gulped audibly. "My family is, but my ole granmum reckons I'm a
Squib-haven't shown any magical abilities yet, and still haven't godden a
Howarts ledder-or a ledder from any uder magical school...Still, my birdday
noticed) hasn't come up yet...its in two days!" he finished proudly.

Harry nodded understandingly. "Well, have a good birthday. I hope you get
accepted into-oh, what school do you want to go into?"

"Hogwarts," was the swift and sure reply.

"That's where I go," Harry said, smiling as Theo's mouth dropped open in
jealousy. "Starting my fifth year. What's your surname?"

"Lestrange. I'm Deodore Lestrange." Theo glanced quickly over his shoulder,
then focused back on the older boy in front of him.

Lestrange, Lestrange...where have I heard that before? Harry pondered,
squinting his eyes together in thought. "Wait-Are your parents-by any
chance-in Azkaban?"

Theo suddenly looked very vulnerable, on the verge of tears. "I'm living
with my grandma...she says mummy has been a bad girl, and they took her
away...she says I won't see her for a long time..." A blank, closed look
came over his face, and a hand flew to his mouth, as if he were afraid that
he had said too much. Before Harry could do anything, Theo was dashing madly
down the street, leaping over trash cans and hurtling over curbs like a wild
beast.

Harry didn't put up a chase, but stared until Theo was no more than a speck
in the distance before turning around and plodding, in a somewhat ruffled
manner, up the Dursley's small and unkempt driveway.

* * * * *

Hermione Granger slipped silkily into a flowered skirt and a white tank top,
attempting to fix her hair into a messy ponytail while at the same time
trying to button up the tank top with her left hand. After spending quite a
while wrestling with her frizzy hair, she managed to stuff it all up into a
tight ponytail at the top of her head. Humming softly to herself, she
skipped down the stairs and burst into the light-flooded kitchen, which was
empty. Her parents had been called down to the dentists office on account of
an unexpected emergency (something about inexperienced nurses and rusty
equipment).

She was rather looking forward to a day of peace and quiet, sitting on the
front patio with a rousing story on her lap and a tall glass of iced
lemonade set next to her. Just as she was grabbing a lemon from the fridge,
she heard a familiar tapping noise at the window behind her. She instantly
dropped the lemon on the kitchen counter and snapped open the window,
allowing a snowy white owl to waddle in.

"Hedwig!" Hermione noted, a pleasantly surprised look on her face as the owl
turned its big amber eyes to look reproachfully at her. With a soft hoot,
Hedwig allowed Hermione to dismantle the letter from her talon before flying
forcefully out the window.

"Harry could at least have the sense to teach her some manners," Hermione
mumbled as she set the letter aside, for the time being, to finish preparing
her lemonade.

* * * * *

Got-to-keep-going....the man staggered weakly against a large tree,
blinking rapidly to against the bright sunlight that flooded his vision.
Must-make-it...Just ahead, he could make out a large house, where he might
be able to rest a bit. It took every last drop of energy and resolve he had
to make it across the rocky street and up the driveway of the house. A quick
glance around the front porch told him immediately that it was a Muggle
home. He would have to be careful and keep himself as inconspicuous as
possible. With a fragile, shaking hand, he rapped softly on the door,
collapsing onto the ground with the effort. Four days of wandering,
helpless, cold, and ragged in a dark forest had done his already tired body
no good. The last thing her remembered before blacking out was a girl
standing over him, a shocked look on her pale face.

* * * * *

Hermione gave a small sigh of satisfaction as she took a tentative sip of
the lemonade she had just completed. She grabbed a book sitting on the table
her tall glass, made her way slowly to the front door, careful not to soil
the carpet in any way. Before she reached the door, however, a faint knock
rang out, as if the person knocking were afraid to break the door. Setting
the load in her arms on a jutting shelf, she impatiently opened the door,
expecting a group of girls selling chocolates, or a salesman advertising a
new perfume line. What came face-to-face with made her heart stand still in
her chest.

"Mr. Weasley?" she breathed wonderingly, watching in horror as his weather-beaten body slammed onto the wooden porch.