Harry Potter and the Legacy of Slytherin

For the Dursleys of Number Four Privet Drive, summer had never been the most pleasant of seasons. They much preferred the cold, snowy days of winter and, as June loomed near, they generally longed for the wet, miserable days of spring. Indeed, this summer was to be no exception. In fact, it seemed to the Dursleys it would be far worse, as Harry Potter, in addition to surviving another year at his horrible school, had not only returned early, but brought two of his friends back to stay as well.

"What's the meaning of this, boy?" Vernon Dursley roared, his great, lumpy face purple with rage. "As if you're not enough - there will be no more of your kind under my roof! Do you hear me?"

"I hear you," Harry muttered, checking the straps that secured Hedwig's cage to his trunk. "Believe me, we won't be staying under your roof for very long.

"You ready?" Harry asked, looking back at Ron and Hermione who had thought it wise to stay a good distance away from Uncle Vernon and remained close to the Platform entrance.

"Now, see here!" Uncle Vernon's meaty hand wrapped around Harry's arm and yanked. "I will not have any more," his voice lowered to a hissed whisper for the next word, "freaks inside my home." The vein in Uncle Vernon's forehead throbbed as he spoke and his thick fingers tightened around Harry. "Understand?" Harry's glasses bounced to the tip of his nose as Uncle Vernon gave him a sound shake.

"Let him go!"

"Ron!"

Hermione acted quickly, snatching Ron's hand and pulling it down to his side, but not before Uncle Vernon caught a glimpse of what Ron had brandished. A bit of the color drained from Uncle Vernon's face, giving him an odd scarlet hue. Still, he barked a gruff laugh. "You can't do - do that outside of that school of yours. You'd be expelled."

"I can't do it," Harry grunted, finally managing to pry himself free, "but they can."

Uncle Vernon's narrowed eyes darted from Harry to the other two as his face blanched to magenta. "No," he sputtered. "I've seen the letters they've sent you! Just off the train and already-"

"Harry's telling you the truth, sir," Hermione broke in with a tentative step towards Uncle Vernon. "Ron and I are of age. We can do..." But her voice trailed off as little beads of sweat sprung up on top of Uncle Vernon's throbbing vein.

Uncle Vernon stared at Hermione for a moment, his mouth hanging open dumbly. Then, with something between a growl and a keen, he turned on his heel and stormed through the crowded station out to the parking lot.

Harry glanced at his friends. Ron was glaring daggers at Uncle Vernon's large back, while Hermione's eyes were so wide Harry wondered if they wouldn't fall out of their sockets.

With a shrug as if to say 'You wanted to come with me,' Harry grasped the handle of his luggage trolley and grinned. "He took that better than I expected." Hedwig hooted in agreement.

The car ride back to Number Four Privet Drive was uncomfortable, to say the least. Hermione had discretely shrunk the three trunks to fit them all nicely into the boot, and when no owl had swooped down informing her of her expulsion and no men in funny cloaks had popped up to snap her...stick, Uncle Vernon's face had twisted furiously. His eye twitching, he had swung open his car door, thrown himself inside and jammed the key into the ignition without a word about it.

Smirking, Ron tried to cast a spell not long after they had left the station, but Hermione was faster. With a wordless Accio, she took Ron's wand and sat on it for the rest of the trip. Ron refused to speak until Hermione returned his wand, and she refused to return his wand until they were out of the car, so Harry, not wanting to get pulled into their argument, ignored them both for most of the ride.

When they arrived at Number Four, something was missing. Rather, someone. Dudley was nowhere to be seen, and, Harry thought maliciously, unless he had lost the weight of a baby elephant, it wasn't as though you could miss him. "Still at school, I suspect," Harry answered when Ron asked, then got Ron, who had just reclaimed his wand, to float their trunks up the stairs because Hermione had refused.

Aunt Petunia was just coming out of Dudley's bedroom when Harry, Ron and Hermione - and their floating trunks - reached the top of the staircase.

"What. Are. You. Doing?" she shrieked, beady eyes darting between the unfamiliar faces and the levitating trunks as she backed against the wall. "Vernon!" Ron winced at the pitch of her voice. "Vernon! Get up here!"

Hastily, at Aunt Petunia's screams, Ron guided the trunks to the floor. Hermione glared at him and Harry both for causing the trouble.

Uncle Vernon came lumbering up the steps behind them, panting with the effort. "Petunia, darling," he gasped, wiping a hand across his forehead, "he's brought back a few...guests."

Aunt Petunia's eyes flickered to the wand that Ron still had in his hand. "Guests?" she asked sharply, squinting at Harry. She looked once more at Ron's wand and at the trunks now sitting peacefully on the floor. "How long?"

"One day. Then we'll be gone." Harry answered, smiling at the thought.

Aunt Petunia's eyes lit up at her nephew's use of 'we' but her lips puckered sourly. She said briskly, pointing at Ron, "He'll stay in your room."

She sniffed, looking Hermione up and down. "I'll make up the guest bedroom for her," she said, the thought of Hermione sleeping on her good guest linens clearly repulsive.

But Harry was satisfied. He picked up Hedwig in her cage, dragged his trunk past his aunt - who was still pressed up against the wall - and opened the door to his room. Hermione and Ron followed him silently, but shared a look when they spotted the locks and bolts fixed to Harry's door.

"They haven't changed much, have they?" Ron said, as soon as the door was shut.

"Oh, I dunno," Harry said. "I think Uncle Vernon might be balding."

Ron dropped to his knees, unlatched the lid of his trunk and peered within. "Too bad that cousin of yours isn't around." His voice was muffled as he stuck his head into the trunk. "When I told Fred and George we were coming here, they - " but he was drowned out by crash which sounded oddly like pots and pans clanging. "Yes! Here it is!"

Grinning, he pulled himself out, his hair now messier than Harry's. "They gave me a few free samples," he said, holding out a tin filled with what appeared to be colorfully wrapped sweets of various sizes.

Hermione's eyes narrowed at the box. Before Ron or Harry could stop her, she had snatched it away and was holding it tightly to her chest.

"Hermione!" Ron cried.

"Firstly," Hermione scolded, opening her trunk enough to slip the box in, slamming the lid shut, and sitting on top of it for good measure, "you can't be sure anything your brothers make is safe for wizards let alone Muggles. And secondly-"

"Why would we give him something safe?" Ron muttered with a frown..

"And secondly," ignoring Ron, she repeated herself much more loudly, "Harry's cousin isn't here, so you don't need them, do you?"

"Aw, come off it, Hermione," moaned Ron. He flopped down on Harry's small bed. "You know his aunt and uncle deserve a Wizard Wheeze just as much!"

But Hermione would not be swayed. "No," she said firmly. Hermione tapped her wand to her trunk and its locks flew closed with a snap, ending the conversation.

The three friends spent the next few hours occupying themselves in Harry's cramped room. Ron brought out his wizard chessboard and set it on the floor along side Harry's bed, and Hermione curled up to read on top of the sheets, Crookshanks purring beside her.

Sometime after Harry's third spectacular loss, there came a hard pounding on the door. "Potter!" Uncle Vernon hollered from the other side. "I'm coming in!" he warned, presumably so that they would stop turning pencils into pelicans or whatever other freakish things they were doing.

There were several metallic clicks ("As if we couldn't get out if we wanted!" Hermione whispered furiously) before the door opened slowly, revealing just Uncle Vernon's round face and bushy mustache.

His eyes didn't move from Harry when he spoke and he was careful to keep the door less than half open. "Petunia and I are going out for dinner," he said gruffly. "We've called Mrs. Figg and you're to go over there until we get back."

"Sure," Harry replied. It wasn't like he had been looking forward to dinner with the Dursleys, anyway.

"We're leaving now," Uncle Vernon said and he slammed the door shut. One of the bolts gave a dull snap as it was shoved into place, only to click back open a moment later when Uncle Vernon remembered that he wanted Harry out of his room, not in.

Harry opened the window so that Hedwig and Pig - Ron, up until that point, had kept his twittering owl in its cage - could catch themselves a nice dinner of mice and frogs. Although Harry was sure Mrs. Figg wouldn't mind if Crookshanks came along ("I doubt she'd notice ten extra cats, let alone one.") Hermione set two small bowls on the floor, one filled with water and one filled with what smelled like something only Hagrid would find delicious.

Aunt Petunia rapped sharply on the door just as Harry, Ron and Hermione were about to come out and shrilly ordered them to leave everything - everything - in the room and get downstairs that instant. Rolling his eyes, Harry shoved his wand into the waistband of his trousers. Ron followed suit and Hermione slid hers up her sleeve before all three of them clambered out of Harry's room and down the stairs.

Once outside, with all the entrances to the house safely locked behind them, they took the short walk down the street and around the corner to Mrs. Figg's.

"Horrible Muggles," Mrs. Figg huffed in greeting as she opened her door, using a foot to shove two of her cats back inside. "No seventeen-year old needs a nanny minding his every move."

"It's not so bad," Harry replied, picking his way over Mr. Tibbles. "Much better than a night with them, anyway."

Not hearing the familiar sound of a company car speeding away, Mrs. Figg stuck her head outside. "And they let you walk here? Alone?" she shrieked. "After all they've been told!"

"I know," Harry said loudly enough so that Mrs. Figg would hear him over her own voice, "but we're fine. Nothing happened."

"That's not the point!" she cried, but Harry's observation did seem to calm her a bit.

"Well," she said a few moments later, forcing herself onto a less infuriating subject, "at least I can give you a proper meal now. What would you like, dears? I've a bit of stew made."

The stew, Harry decided as he ate, was by far the best tasting thing he had ever eaten at Mrs. Figg's house. But he held that opinion only until dessert. Mrs. Figg served a lovely, thickly frosted, three-layered chocolate cake that wasn't the least bit stale.

After dinner, Mrs. Figg brought out a very old, very battered set of Gobstones for their amusement. It was so old and battered, however, that some of the charms on the pieces seemed to be wearing off, and it wasn't uncommon for either Ron or Harry to be squirted with a foul-smelling liquid whenever a Gobstone felt the urge. Hermione decided against playing and had instead engaged Mrs. Figg in a particularly riveting conversation about knitting needles.

Everyone was so occupied with what they were doing that no one noticed when the quiet fireplace flared to life, burned brightly for a moment, then extinguished itself. They would have missed it the second time as well had one of the cats not yowled to alert them.

"Wait!" Mrs. Figg yelled across the room, pushing herself up off the sofa. "Wait! I'm here!"

Dashing over to the hearth, her tartan slipper slapping against her heels, Mrs. Figg knelt down heavily. "Hello?" she called into the small bit of flame that remained. "Oh, for Merlin's sake. HELLO?"

Suddenly, the fire expanded, growing large enough to illuminate the entire room, and a face appeared within. "I hear you, Ari. No need to shout." A beard sprouted down from the man's chin and his head was covered in grey hair so long that the end of it could not be seen in the fire-window.

"I wouldn't have to shout, Abby, if you would hold the connection for any decent length of time," Mrs. Figg replied.

"Yes, well..." the head said dismissively. He opened his mouth, but before he continued he caught sight of Harry, Ron and Hermione who had edged closer to eavesdrop. "You have company," he accused sharply.

"Just Harry Potter and two of his friends," Mrs. Figg answered, waving her hand impatiently.

But knowing that Harry was Harry did not relax the man. Rather, he threw his piercing gaze over Mrs. Figg's shoulder, straight at Harry, who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

"Right," said the man after a long moment and Harry was quite glad when the stare returned to Mrs. Figg. "Well, Ari, I just wanted to check in. I'll contact you again soon." And he was gone.

Mrs. Figg blinked. "That was odd," she muttered, struggling to her feet. Turning around, she found a dozen sets of eyes upon her. Harry, Ron and Hermione - in addition to some ten odd cats - were all looking at her curiously.

There was a moment of silence before Mrs. Figg offered, "Anyone up for a second pudding? There's still cake left." With that, she escaped to the kitchen for the next fifteen minutes.

It was nearly eleven by the time Uncle Vernon telephoned to say that Harry, Ron and Hermione could walk back. Mrs. Figg insisted on coming with them. "Anything could happen to you, this late at night, and I don't fancy having your deaths on my hands," she said, slipping on a bathrobe in lieu of a jacket. No one had the heart to remind her that if someone wanted them dead, there wasn't a whole that that she - being a Squib - could do about it.

The walk was pleasant, however, with nothing worse than a few bats and a stray cat to be seen. When they reached the Dursleys house, Mrs. Fig bid them goodbye. "Come over whenever the Muggles get to be too much, dears."

"Thanks," Harry smiled, "but we're leaving tomorrow."

Mrs. Figg, who had turned to walk back to her home spun around abruptly. "What was that?"

"I said -"

"I heard what you said you daft boy!" she interrupted, wringing her hands. "No, no, no. You can't leave tomorrow!"

She ushered Harry, Ron and Hermione up the driveway of Number Four. "No, Harry, you must stay here." She ran her fingers though her hair, pulling at it nervously. "Oh, how long did he say? A week? Two? A week, at least!"

"How long did who say?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Dumbledore!" Mrs. Figg snapped. "You'll have to stay here a week, Harry, at the very least. Now, don't argue with me!" she added, correctly anticipating his next thought. "I know what these Muggles are like! I wouldn't be telling you not to leave if it didn't matter! Oh, what were they thinking, saying you could?"

She looked around suddenly. "You shouldn't be out here," she said, pushing them towards the door. "Go on! Inside! And don't even think of leaving until I've talked with you again!"

She waited until the three were safely through door before dashing down the street, her bathrobe flapping behind her.

"What was that about?" Hermione asked as soon as they had stepped inside. "Why can't you leave?"

"Something with the protective magic, I'd guess," Harry said, giving a half-truth. He was certain Mrs. Figg had been talking about the blood-magic wards, but didn't want to go into it. "We should probably listen to her, though. Whatever it is, it's got her pretty upset."

"Well," Ron sighed slumping against the wall as Harry bolted the door, "this should be fun."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Loads of fun." He turned and trudged up the stairs. "You two coming?"

"Don't you think you should do it now?" Hermione looked down the hall to where sounds of a late-night news program were coming from. "Get it out of the way?"

But Harry shook his head. "If we want to sleep tonight, I don't think that's the best idea," he replied.

Upstairs, after Hermione collected her trunk and her cat and left Harry's room for the guest room, Ron and Harry set up the threadbare blankets and flat, lumpy pillow on the floor. Harry offered his bed, but Ron refused.

"Nah." He shook his head. "It's your bed, and, no offense, but I reckon it's not all that better than the floor anyway."

Aunt Petunia woke them at eight the next morning. She had set out their breakfast and wanted them finished and the kitchen clean by eight-thirty sharp. Ron and Harry stumbled blearily downstairs and found Hermione sitting at the table - neither Uncle Vernon nor Aunt Petunia was anywhere in sight - scraping a bit of sugar-free, low calorie orange jam out of a near-empty jar for her toast.

Aunt Petunia must be excited to be rid of me, Harry thought, amused. She'd never given him jam before. Well, except for the time she'd tried to get him to eat some black currant jam to check if it had gone bad, but Harry preferred not to count that.

Dropping himself in a chair, Ron grabbed one of the slightly burnt pieces and shoved it into his mouth. " 'Er-mye-nee," he said around the toast, "'ow'll oo ge' oor 'aren's 'o le' oo s'ay 'ere?"

Hermione grimaced at Ron. "My parents are on holiday in Greece; they won't even be back until a week after school was supposed to end. So this works out fine - Ron," she slammed her knife down on the table, "will you please keep your mouth closed when you eat? It's disgusting, really."

Ron paused mid-chew to stuff another bit of toast into his already too full mouth, then grinned messily at Hermione. Harry covered a smile by grabbing the glass in front of him and taking a sip of his watery orange juice.