HARRY POTTER AND THE PROPHECY TRUE

HARRY POTTER AND THE PROPHECY TRUE

Chapter One

The night sky was clear and warm, bringing with it the usual aromas of dinners being barbequed outdoors, roses in bloom and freshly mowed lawns. The sounds of children running through the alley, gravel crunching beneath the tires of expensive cars and night birds calling for silence echoed up the distance to the second floor window, left open for the return of a large white owl. All was calm and peaceful. Summer had arrived at last and brought with it a cooler June than last year, but hot nevertheless. Sitting in front of the window, several pieces of parchment strung about the old desk, was a rather good-looking young man with jet black hair that seemed to have a mind of its own; never straight, always messy. Beneath the bangs hanging over his forehead that was long overdue for trimming, was hiding an unusual mark, one given to him as a baby to mark him as an equal.

Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, The-Boy-Who-Battled-The-Dark-Lord was now The-Boy-Who-Grew-Up. A huge accomplishment for a young man nearing his seventeenth birthday. An even larger accomplishment for any man who had spent the past six years battling the darkest, most evil wizard known to history.

The top of the old desk held several letters, both received and written. A small dimly lit lamp sat next to him, illuminating the contents with a soft glow. A picture of an attractive young red head smiled up at him from where it sat on the desk, waving to him from its magical canvas. Ginny Weasley, the only girl in his life, the only girl he ever loved and knew he ever would, had fought by his side for two years running. She had proven herself a worthy adversary, a strong independent and determined witch and a very passionate lover. Beside her stood another picture of two people smiling happily from their frame. They too waved magically back to him, the man much like Harry had messy black hair and woman, very beautiful and happy with red hair. His parents, killed by Voldemort, sacrificed to save his life. Guilt was a constant with Harry, who turned away from the sight to look back out the window.

Against the wall to his right sat a small, unmade bed. Sheets lay stacked in a folded pile atop the mattress, with the thin blanket and flat, uncomfortable pillow on top. At the foot of the small bed was a large wooden trunk, the lid open to reveal the number of books, clothes, pictures and a thin sleek looking broomstick. Robes of red and gold, black and velvet lay folded neatly in one corner of the box, packages of cakes, candies and tricks stacked tightly opposite them. Books with unusual names like "Magical Theories Throughout The Ages", "Magic Creatures Past and Present" and "Defense Against the Dark Arts: Volume Seven", lay among the rest of the items in the center. Among the belongings, a thin black piece of wood laid on top the clothes, while another, an older brown one lay next to it. Wands, toys to the common child, held great powers and magic when used by one skilled and trained in such tasks. If anyone were to look into the trunk, they would think its contents odd, but to Harry it was his life.

Sounds of anger made their way up the stairs and through the closed door. The booming voice of Uncle Vernon was nothing unusual, nor was the whining tone of Dudley. Aunt Petunia's pitiful cries of complaints and excuses mingled in the middle of the other two and Harry listened, shaking his head in disgust. Mrs. McPherson, the new neighbor who had moved in next door during the winter, along with her two young sons, listened at the shouting from her backyard, where she was digging in the garden. She sat up when she heard Vernon shouting about another shirt ruined by a careless iron and Dudley complain that he would have to drop out of his boxing matches, due to his sudden weight loss. The woman, from what Harry had overheard Petunia complaining about, was a young divorcee, "a tramp on the run" as she explained it. She and her young children, Michael aged seven and Daniel aged five had moved from Scotland to be closer to her family and start over. There had been a number of run-ins between the two families since summer began and Dudley had returned home from school.

Michael had been the favorite punching bag of the robust Dudley for the past three weeks. Even the police had come to intervene on two separate occasions. Mrs. McPherson had warned Vernon and Petunia, that if her boys sported one more black eye, one more bruise or one more item stolen (bikes had been taken and sold by Dudley and his friends last week) she would file charges and have the bully arrested. Since then, Vernon and Petunia had been forced to keep 'Duddykins' inside or in the back yard. Neither of which he liked much and made certain everyone knew it. It didn't help to make amends between the two neighbors after Harry returned home. Mrs. McPherson had heard the rumors spread by the Dursleys about him and where he spent his summer months, but a sudden halt had come to all of them the week he returned from Hogwart's.

Harry was doing his usual chores, pulling weeds, cleaning the front lawn, mowing and spreading manure when a car belonging to Dudley's friend Roland (a new boy converted by the group of thugs) came racing down the street. Daniel had been out in the street while his older brother Michael taught him to use his new roller blades he'd gotten for his birthday the day before. Michael had managed to get out of the street, but that left little Daniel alone and terrified as a racing car sped toward him. Harry had seen this and using the wand he had always kept hidden in the pocket of his pants, he managed to cause the engine to explode, the bonnet to flip up and the car to spin out of control, running dead on into Vernon's new company car. Harry ran into the street, gathering the boy in his strong arms and pulling him out of danger. Once he was certain the two boys were safe, he stormed over to Dudley's friend, who was crawling out of the smashed car. By now the Dursleys and their neighbors were outside watching. Vernon was shouting about his car and Dudley was laughing at the spectacle his friend made.

Without thought of consequences, Harry moved toward the scene filled with laughter from Dudley and Roland and shouting from Vernon and Petunia. He stepped up between the oversized figure of Dudley and his tall scrawny, blond haired friend. The look of intent anger blazed in Harry's emerald eyes and the two stopped laughing immediately. Harry drew his arm back, letting it swing full force into the pointed, earring clad face of Roland. The boy staggered backwards, his nose broken and bleeding, tears streaming down his face. Dudley took a step backwards as Harry turned to face him. Thinking him clever, the fat fist of his cousin curled and swung toward Harry, who ducked easily out of the way, bringing a fist of his own up into the other boy's blubbery stomach. Dudley gasped for air and tried to stand up, but was caught by a second blow, harder and filled with years of penned up anger, square in his face. Petunia screeched, Vernon roared and Dudley cried.

"Clean this bloody mess up," Harry shouted above the noise. "And you, get the hell out of this neighborhood and the next time you enter it, do so on foot. If you so much as come near another child, I'll have worse for you than you've already had." Roland staggered back to his busted up car, tossing the fender into the broken side window, before turning the key. The engine turned over after several tries, growling painfully to life. Harry watched as he drove it out of Private Drive, clunking and clinging as it left. He rounded on Dudley and his parents, fists balled and a look of warning they had never seen shining on his face.

"Get a broom and dustbin and clean up this mess," Harry ordered. Vernon stood up from where he leaned across his bleeding son inspecting his broken nose, confronting Harry face to face.

"How dare you boy?" he snarled. "Who do you think you are, raising a hand to my son? I've had enough of you and your kind. I want you out of my house immediately."

"I'll leave when it's time and not a second before," Harry said in a soft, deadly tone. He stood his ground against Vernon, his anger matching and defeating the older man's temper. Vernon stared at Harry; open mouthed and gasping for something to say. His face a deep shade of purple, his eyes wide with disbelief. "If you had better control over that fat elephant, this would never have happened," Harry continued, just loud enough for the neighbors to hear, who smiled and chuckled behind them. "He has terrorized every child within five kilometers and it's time it stopped. And for your information," he continued, this time low enough the neighbors couldn't hear him. "My kind would have turned that tub of lard into a greased pig and barbequed him over an open pit."

Harry returned to the two boys standing near their mother, sobbing into her skirts. He knelt down to them, ignoring the whispers of those watching and gently touched their shoulders.

"You'll be all right," Harry promised them, smiling as they turned tear soaked faces toward him. "If that hippo so much as looks at you cross eyed, you tell me and I'll take care of him. All right?" The boys smiled, hugging Harry's neck tightly.

"How can I ever thank you?" Mrs. McPherson asked, tears choking in her throat. Harry smiled at her before he stood up and glanced across his shoulder to see Dudley, broom in hand sweeping up the broken glass.

"Don't worry about it, I'm just glad I was out here," he told her with a smile more friendlily than she would have expected from the neighbors 'delinquent nephew'. The woman smiled back, reaching up and hugging the young man's neck, tears dripping to his shirtless shoulder.

Since that day, the neighbors made a point of smiling and waving to Harry whenever he was out. No more thought was given to the rumors and lies spread by the Dursleys. Mrs. McPherson brought him iced teas and lemonade, cookies, biscuits and cakes when she saw him slaving away in the front yard, making Vernon insist he remain in the backyard if he ever wanted to leave the house again, which of course he didn't. Mrs. Figg stopped by a number of times, smiling and patting Harry on the arm, assuring him he had changed a lifetime of hatred and misgivings. Even Mr. and Mrs. Harvey, the neighbors across the street from the Dursleys stopped by late last Friday, introducing Harry to their fourteen-year-old daughter, fresh from boarding school in France. The girl was attractive enough with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Her creamy complexion tinted repeatedly with a deep shade of pink, as her parents tried to persuade Harry to come by for tea.

Harry smiled even now, as he looked out the window at the neighbor, waving back when she saw him sitting by the window. He thought back on that first day, thankful for the Ministry not knowing of his use of magic. The only thing that had saved him from receiving a visit from the Ministry or from receiving another owl telling him he was expelled from school was that he had used his mother's wand. Thought lost sixteen years ago, Harry had discovered quite accidentally, that the Ministry had removed their watch over it, which meant he could do as much magic as he pleased without repercussions.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the carpet echoed up the stairs, a loud knock pounding at his door. Harry drew a deep breath. It was seven fifteen, which meant that his aunt's attempt at Muggle cooking was ready to be sampled. Harry stood from his chair, as the door swung open. Filling the threshold was the large frame of Uncle Vernon, an angry look twisting his face as he watched Harry pull the shirt he had tossed to his bed across his muscular frame.

"Get downstairs for supper. And do not sit in front of an open window in that condition again," Vernon snapped. "If you wish to expose your nudity for that whore of yours, then you will do so away from my home. We are respectable people and do not allow such perversions here." Harry walked to his trunk, removed his mother's wand from where he had left it and tucked it inside his pocket, keeping his shirt unbuttoned. He rounded on the older man, staring boldly, daringly into his porky face.

"Watch you tongue old man," Harry warned. "Ginny Weasley is the daughter of the Minster of Magic and my future bride. You will respect her name, even if she is not around. And as for the neighbors, I doubt there's much you have to worry about. They have seen your true colors. And lastly, if I looked like you or Dudley, I would definitely keep covered up, perhaps even with a coat and blanket."

"Think yourself clever do you boy?" Vernon snapped, watching the smile that crept the corners of Harry's mouth up.

"Not really, but compared to you, I'm a bloody genius." Harry pushed his way past the older man, smiling contently as he made his way to the kitchen. He passed the small cupboard beneath the stairs and frowned. So much had happened to him since he was forced to live in there, so much life and death had occurred around him. He had gone from a frightened child to a powerful wizard. He had moved past an existence of hate and neglect, to a world of love and passion, a world where he belonged and after this next year, would never again leave.

Inside the kitchen, Harry found Dudley and Petunia already seated at the large table, dirty dishes from the morning and noon meals strung about the kitchen, the table sticky with spilled food dried rather than wiped up. The smell of burnt meat assured Harry that an attempt at cooking had indeed occurred, the small charred hockey pucks sitting in the center of the table confirmed his thoughts. A plastic bowl of canned vegetables sat nearby, melted from too long microwaved, half cooked potatoes sat on each plate, (nobody caring who got the larger one any more) wilted lettuce made up a salad and weak ice tea awaited untasted in the dirty cups next to the paper plates.

Harry smiled to himself as he sat down at the table. The kitchen had been redecorated since last he was home, no expense had been spared with the new appliances of every design adorning the massive room and still Petunia had yet to master their use. She complained about the items being foreign made and her being unable to understand their technologies. Harry knew however without a doubt, she had relied upon the use of his mother's wand more than she claimed. Misty, his childhood house elf was the results of her proudly dressed family and sparkling clean home. Since Harry took both away, the Muggle world had set into the wizard-free, 'freak-free' home as Petunia and Vernon called it. She was at long last forced to accept the life she had designed for herself.

"What happened to the pork chops?" Vernon growled as he joined the three at the table. Harry nearly choked on his laughter, forcing himself to drink the weak tea quickly.

"It's not my fault Vernon," Petunia whined again. "That blasted stove does not cook according to the proper settings. How am I supposed to make a decent meal with this second rate equipment?"

"You were the one who chose that stove, not to mention the dishwasher, the microwave, the disposal, the trash masher, the icebox, the washer and the dryer," Vernon shouted back, as Harry and Dudley did their usual ignoring the two, forcing themselves to eat the food at hand. "You would think that for the money I spent on this blasted house, there would be something in it that worked properly."

"Do not raise your voice at me, Vernon Dursley!" Petunia shouted, causing the occupants at the table to stop eating in mid-bite, staring at the woman in shock. "I have tried my best to make this a happy home. I cook and clean and wash and iron and do I ever hear a single word of thanks? No. What I hear are complaints. Well I've had enough. If you think you can do better, then you just do that. Right now. Get up and make a new dinner, everything you could possibly need is in the icebox and the cupboards. I'm going to have a drink." Harry turned to Vernon as did Dudley, watching the purple-faced man grunt angrily.

"That's exactly what I'll do," yelled Vernon, gathering the paper plates and throwing them into the trash, food and all. "You two go to your rooms immediately. I'll call you when a proper supper is ready." Harry and Dudley stood from the table at once, practically running out of the room.

"Bloody hell," Dudley said, actually speaking to Harry. "I think they've both gone mad."

"It would seem a likely conclusion," Harry said, unwilling to discuss the subject further. It wasn't like his cousin to speak with him, much less civilly. I didn't know how to deal with it and felt off centered.

"Do you eat real food at the school of yours?" Dudley asked, stopping Harry from entering his room.

"Yes, why?"

"What kinds of food?"

"All kinds. Loads of it. Why?"

"The nurse at school told mum and dad my diet isn't working," Dudley said with a bitter expression. "They have me on pills and they measure my meals like a bloody baby. I haven't had a decent meal since last summer." Harry frowned at the boy, and then drew a deep breath. What the hell was he thinking? He was actually feeling sorry for the overstuffed git.

"Come with me," Harry said in a soft growl. He opened his bedroom door, then stood aside as his portly cousin entered, cautiously stepping to the middle of the room. Harry opened his trunk; pulling out the package Hagrid had sent him yesterday. He handed it to Dudley, grinding his teeth. It wasn't as if he was actually considering eating the cookies contained inside, but he wasn't planning on giving them to Dudley either. Who would have guessed that he was feeling bloody sorry for the fat glutton?

'What is it?" Dudley asked pulling the string that held the box shut. He peeked inside as if expecting to see a snake jump out at him. Immediately he tossed the lid aside and began stuffing the treats into his mouth.

"Easy there big boy," Harry warned. "Hagrid means well, but his food is less than digestible."

"Are you nuts?" Dudley snorted, sitting on the bed, his mouth full. "These are fantastic. Got any more?" Harry frowned. He must have been hungry to think Hagrid's cooking was good. Reaching back into his trunk, Harry pulled out another package. Not once did Dudley ask if there were tricks involved or anything that could possibly create a recurrence to his last encounter with wizard food. Instead he greedily accepted the second package from Misty and tore it opened as well. Inside were a number of tiny tarts, pastries and pies. Harry really wasn't looking forward to eating them, since they were over a month old. He had received them from his house elf shortly after returning from his battle with the Death Eaters, and had yet to have a chance to open it. Besides, he had a fresh batch from the little elf that was securely hidden beneath the floorboard under his bed, along with a package from Ron and another from Hermione. Ginny had sent a package just that morning with chocolates, which he had eaten while thinking of her. His heart ached to be with her, his arms felt empty and his lips felt cold and dry.

"What's that?" Dudley gasped, glancing to Harry's desk, seeing the large eagle owl sitting on the windowsill. Harry stepped to it, took the envelope from it and offered it a treat from Hedwig's cage. The bird ate it happily, then spread its wings and flew off into the night sky.

"What is it? Another letter from those freaky...I mean those friends of yours?" Dudley stopped, glancing down to the floor causing Harry to turn and look at him. He was used to his friends being called names by his Muggle relations, but he wasn't used to his cousin changing descriptions in mid sentence.

"It's from a classmate," Harry said with a frown, both from Dudley's reactions as well as the sender of the parchment he held in his hand. It was sealed with a silver snake, the scrawling letters in Malfoy's hand.

"Not a friend?"

"I'm not sure what to call him," Harry answered honestly, tossing the letter aside. He wasn't about to open his mail with his cousin looking over his shoulder.

"Not going to open it?" Dudley asked, stuffing another tart in his oversized mouth.

"No. I don't really care what it says," he lied. At least he pulled off the charade well enough to stop the porky sized boy from asking any further questions. Dudley looked around his cousin's room as he continued eating, seeing the moving pictures on the desk.

"Who are they?" he asked, pointing to the picture of Lily and James Potter. Harry picked it up and smiled briefly. He loved to look at this picture. They looked so happy and full of love. No hint of the pain and torment that lay ahead of them.

"It's my parents," Harry said softly.

"You look like them."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Harry replied, setting it back to the desk and glancing to picture of Ginny, again pushing aside the pain of missing her.

"That your girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"She looks like those others who came here a couple years ago."

"She's their sister."

"Figures," Dudley said, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you would end up with the sister of your best friend. I hear that sort of thing happens. Mum was the best friend of Aunt Marge when they were younger." Dudley fell into silence as he looked again at the pictures. Harry paced in front of the desk, glancing at the many parchments strung across it. He had letters that needed finishing and now one from Malfoy that he was growing anxious to read. If only his cousin would leave, he could get back to what he was doing.

"My mum said your mum was like her, normal," Dudley said after a few minutes.

"You mean a Muggle," Harry corrected.

"Yeah, whatever. How is it she ended up in the way she was?"

"She was called to school by Dumbledore, the Headmaster and greatest wizard who ever lived."

"But how was she called? I mean, if she wasn't like them."

"She had talents that caught the attention of the Governors and Minister of Magic. She displayed magical tendencies."

"Why was she called and my mum wasn't?" Harry frowned at the boy sitting across from him. Was he actually having a conversation with him? Were they actually speaking of his parents and his world without criticism?

"I've often wondered that myself," Harry said honestly, leaning back against his desk.

"Ever wonder what life would have been like, if my mum had gotten a letter as well?" Dudley asked in amusement. Harry smiled. What would life have been like if Petunia were a witch?

"It would be interesting to find out," Harry answered again, as Uncle Vernon's voice came booming from downstairs, calling them back to the kitchen. Harry glanced at the clock. It had only been thirty minutes. What could he possibly have created in that short of time?

"Well, here we go again," Dudley said, reluctantly setting the boxes aside. Harry smiled, lifting them from his bed. He was definitely going to have admit himself into St. Mungo's when he left here.

"Take them," Harry told the robust young man. "I can always get more." Dudley's eyes widened, as did his fat lips, revealing a mouth full of discolored teeth.

"Thanks," he said happily, then hurried out of the room and into the one next to Harry's. He emerged a few moments later, wiping the cream from his face.

"Come on," Harry said in a hesitant amused tone. "We have another feast to endure."

"Blimey," Dudley said in a hushed tone. "I'm actually looking forward to going back to school. At least there, I get to eat something that isn't burned or soggy."

The smells that were coming out of the kitchen were actually inviting, as the two boys entered, looking around. Vernon had cleaned every inch of the gleaming white and red tiled room. The table had been scrubbed, the dishes washed, the trash gathered and removed. The stove was cleaned, the floors swept and moped and the smells coming form the sink's disposal were no longer reeking through the room. The two glanced to each other again, and then sat cautiously at the table. The paper plates were missing and in their place were the good china and silver. Milk had been poured into clean glasses, a fresh salad mixed together complete with tomatoes and carrots, beans had been cooked and mixed with a cheese sauce, a simple dish of fettuccini had been prepared, along with pan fried chicken breasts. Along with this was a creamy desert of chocolate mouse and whipped cream. Not exactly a feast comparable to Hogwart's standards or even Mrs. Weasley's meals, but it smelled good and that was all that mattered.

Aunt Petunia entered the kitchen from the sitting room, the results of her drink tinting her eyes red and twisting her words with a slight slur. She sat at the table across from her husband and inspected the table. Vernon actually looked quite pleased with himself as he brought over the oven baked bread and joined them.

"Looks like you've been busy," Petunia said bitterly.

"Just threw together a few things," Vernon said proudly as Harry and Dudley began dishing up the meal. Harry took a small amount of everything, almost afraid to eat it in case it didn't taste as good as it smelled. Vernon frowned at him, slamming his fist on the table and causing all three of them to jump.

"You had better get your fill boy," he snarled at Harry, his eyes fusing angrily with him. "I don't want any of those freaks you call friends, coming here and accusing me of starving you."

"I'm fine thank you," Harry said, turning to see the frown from Dudley. If Harry didn't know better, his cousin actually looked angry at his father's reactions.

"Better make certain it stays that way," Vernon growled, serving up his own plate. Harry and Dudley glanced across to each other, raising eyebrows in question and support for the other as they drew deep breaths and stuffed their mouths full of the pasta dinner. Much to their surprise, it was actually quite good. Harry couldn't believe it. It was nearly as good as the meals Aunt Petunia made when she had use of his mother's wand.

"This is great dad," Dudley said, seeing the proud expression cross his father's fat face.

"Thank you son," the older Dursley said, looking down the table to his wife. "Well Petunia, what do you think? As good as yours?"

"No, but it will do. I suppose you got those blasted machines to work then?"

"Yes, they work quite nicely. After dinner I'll show you how to use them. It takes a mechanical oriented mind to understand them. You just need a few lessons, that's all." Harry nearly burst into laughter at the comment. Something Hermione had once said to him and Ron rang though his ears. "The blind leading the blind."

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Harry sat at the desk, long past midnight. July the first, he thought. The three witches had told him the journey east would take three months. He had no choice but to leave. He finished his task of answering letters, before he could leave. He wrote to Hermione, thanking her for the treats and the encouraging words. He told her to stay by Ginny, to protect her and be with her, explaining only that he had a mission that must be completed before he joined them in September. It was basically the same letter he wrote to Ron, the twins Fred and George, Lupin and even Moody.

To Dumbledore, he wrote more of a complete letter, explaining his meeting with the three witches and what they told him he must do. He explained the length of time he had in which to complete his task and asked to keep his enrollment with Hogwart's open for him. Then he turned to the task of writing to Ginny. This he considered with great detail. She knew of his dream and knew that he had to seek the Green Flame Torch, but she wasn't happy about it. A short time ago, just after he returned to his room from eating Uncle Vernon's surprising dinner, he found Hedwig sitting in her cage, eating the cup of treats he left for her. He untied the letter from her leg and slid it open, recognizing the handwriting immediately.

"My Darling Harry," it began.

"I know your time at the Dursleys are coming to an end. I know why and I'm begging you, please let me come with you. I can't bear the thought of your being out there alone, with no protection. I know I can't do much to help you, your skills and powers are much greater than mine, but I can at least keep you company and make sure you're eating.

"Harry please? I have to be with you. I can't stand the thought of our being apart for so long. Please, please, send Hedwig back with a message of where I can meet you. I promise I won't get in the way or slow you down. Please Harry, please write me back."

Harry sighed again, feeling the stab of guilt raking his heart. He couldn't allow her to join him. He had to do this alone and they both knew it, but when he read her letter, read how he signed it "forever your soul mate," he knew leaving her for so long was the single hardest thing he ever had to do.

He left her letter for later, knowing it wouldn't be easy to write. How did you tell the woman you loved that he had to leave her, that he couldn't be with her and he couldn't allow her to be with him because he had a dream? It didn't' sound right, even to himself.

Harry gathered the letters together, stacking the ones he had written separate from those he had received. There, lying beneath the multiple parchments was the letter he had received from Malfoy, forgotten in his haste to eat and finish his tasks for the night. He slipped the string holding it closed off, then slid open the serpent seal that secured its ends.

"Potter," it began.

"I have spent the past month thinking about what you asked me. I have been counseled by Professor Snape as well as Professor Dumbledore. I can't believe what I'm about to say. I know what you said, the point of the star and all, it is me, I can feel it. I think perhaps I felt it the first time we met all those years ago. I hated you then, but more than that I think I knew our destinies were to be one.

"I don't know what good I can do, but I have decided to join you in your fight against the Dark Lord. Just don't think this means I like you or anything. I plan on having my head examined at the first chance I can make an appointment for St. Mungo's.

"Yours Truly, Draco Malfoy, Esquire."

So, Harry thought, another page to the prophecy revealed and answered. If only Dumbledore would tell him the entire thing. If only he could predict what was to happen next.

With reluctance, Harry drafted his last letter before addressing Ginny's. This one was to Mrs. Weasley. He sent her the key to his vault at Gringott's, asking her to pick up the supplies he needed for school. He finished by telling her, if he wasn't on the train September the first, then to send his belongings on to the school. He would meet up with them and Ginny, Ron and Hermione there. He sealed the letter closed, turning back to the task he had been avoiding for most of the night. He had nothing more to do and little time left allotted to him. It was now or never.

"My Dearest Ginny," he wrote.

"I don't know when the last time was that I told you how much I loved you. Today I have not been able to think of anything but you. I imagine you next to me at night, I see your face in the mirror and hear your voice in the song of the birds outside my window. The day you gave me my birthday present, was the day I was born. The day we made love was the day I knew there would be no living without you. You are in my heart and in my soul. That is why you must let me go now. This is a journey I must make alone, you knew that. Being away from you for this summer is going to be pure hell, but we know why it must be done. Please be patient. Don't forget me and don't give up on me. I'll be home soon, I promise.

"Keep this safe for me and never forget how much I love you. We will be together again soon, I promise. Until then, don't worry and don't cry. Look at the moon every night at midnight. I will be looking at it as well. In that way, we will be together again. I love you, Harry." He slipped the chain he had secured around his mother's wedding rings from the drawer he had hid them in and the envelope closed around them. He pulled Hedwig from her cage and tied the bundle of letters to her leg.

"Take these to the Weasleys," he told her, ignoring the irritated nip she gave his fingers. "Stay with them until I get back. I promise, I'll see you soon. And Hedwig," he said, his tone cracking with emotion. "Keep Ginny company for me. Let her know I love her." Hedwig looked at him as if she understood what he had asked her to do, then tipped her beak to him, affectionately nipping his hand before flying off into the night's darkness.

Harry watched until he could no longer see the glistening white bird in the sky before turning back to the room. He slipped the letters he had received into his trunk, pulled out his heavy cloak, gloves, scarf and hat along with his Firebolt. He changed into a warm jumper and pair of thick heavy pants, already regretting the heat radiating from them. He had a mission to do and it would be cold, which meant he had no choice but to dress the part. He slipped his own wand back into its case and tucked it into his trunk. He removed the large pack he had sent to Diagon Alley for and tied it to the end of the broom. He pulled Hedwig's cage down from the dresser and sat it on top of the closed, locked trunk before turning back to the room. He had one more letter to write. Sitting at the desk once again and making use of the Muggle pen and paper he had kept there, he wrote his final words to his mother's sister and family.

"Dear Durselys," he began. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to tell them but it didn't seem appropriate. Instead he wrote a short simple note, and then walked to his trunk. He removed his mother's wand and tapped the trunk and cage, ordering them to number twelve Grimmauld Place. The disappeared immediately, leaving Harry to look around the empty room one last time. He sighed deeply, shutting off the light and closing the door behind him. He stepped down to the kitchen where he knew his aunt and uncle would go first, leaving the note on the table. Looking around the house once more, he smiled. He felt as if he should feel nostalgic about leaving, it was the last time he would ever come to this house, but he didn't. He felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt as if he could fly without aid of his trusty Firebolt. He felt better than he had last week when he took his Apparition test and passed it. He was free. No longer did he have to fear coming back here, dread the torment and criticism that awaited him.

Stepping out the door of the kitchen, he gathered his broom and pack and left number four Privet Drive for the last time. Sitting on the table in the now sparkling clean kitchen was the note Harry had written to his relatives. It was short and simple, but conveyed all he wanted to say.

"Dear Dursleys: I needed to thank you for taking me in as a baby. You were the only family I knew and the only example of love I ever had until I found my true home at Hogwart's. I wish you well and hope you will find happiness in all you do. Good-bye. Harry."