Harry Potter's Secret Heartache

On a warm night in August, Privet Drive and the neighboring streets of Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk were all plunged into darkness.

The only visible light was that of the streetlamps, illuminating identical neatly trimmed lawns, identical cars parked in identical drives in front of houses that were all pretty much the same except for the occasional potted plant in a window or white cat door here and there.

The residents of these homes were currently sleeping soundly in their beds.They would not be snoring so soundly, however, if they knew that they were in fact living within a few feet of a real live wizard, who was at this very moment in time, stirring in his bed and twisting himself deeper into the tangle of his soft blue sheets.

Harry found himself once again spending his summer holiday at the home of his imposing and rather beefy Uncle Vernon Dursley, his horse-faced and giraffe-necked Aunt Petunia, and his spoiled and infinitely large cousin Dudley, whose greatest fear was that someone should discover Harry's true identity.

All of the Durselys' acquaintances thought that Harry Potter was a criminal and ignoramus sent to St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys, but in the wizarding world, Harry Potter was regarded as something of a savior - famous for bringing about the downfall of the most feared wizard of all time: Lord Voldemort.

Harry continued to twist in his bed, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead due to the oppressive heat. Suddenly his eyes flashed open, blinking once or twice before focusing. Harry groped around for his glasses in the dark and switched on his bedside lamp. Light poured out of Harry's small second story window; the conspicuous yellow cutting through the darkness of the surrounding streets and homes.

Harry sat up straight in bed. He was trying to remember the dream he had been having. It was the same one he had been having ever since the night he came face to face with Voldemort - the same night that Harry's godfather, Sirius died.

He had been running down the halls of the Department of Mysteries searching for Sirius, the eerie words of the broken prophecy echoing over and over again in his mind.

But Harry had become used to this dream; he had been having it for several weeks now. What had woken him up was that the dream had somehow changed tonight. In his dream he had been running through the dark hallways of the Department of Mysteries and the next thing he knew he was flying on his broomstick - or so he thought.

He was just becoming accustomed to the new image when he suddenly looked down and saw that he wasn't riding his firebolt at all - (he was suspended completely unsupported 100 yards above the hard, very solid ground.) Harry felt sick at this discovery and it had been his panic at finding himself hanging in midair that had awoken him.

Now that he was awake he didn't think that he could go back to sleep again. The air was stagnant and there was no breeze blowing at all. Harry's sheets were twisted around him so tightly, slightly damp with sweat, that it took him a full minute to extricate himself from them and step out of bed.

Harry walked over to his desk, where Hedwig's cage stood. Tonight Hedwig was sound asleep inside it, even though Harry had left the window open for her to go out. Harry stroked her white head lovingly a few times before noticing the small letter at her feet.

Harry was surprised, since he didn't remember another owl coming to deliver it. It was only upon closer observation that Harry found his best friend, Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon, sound asleep in Hedwig's water bowl. Harry laughed to himself as he scratched the small owl's chest, thinking about how surprised Hedwig would be in the morning to find an interloper in her morning drink.

Harry grabbed the letter and sat back down on his bed again. It had been weeks since he received any news from Ron or anyone from the wizarding world for that matter, he had begun to feel isolated once again, cut off from all magical things.

He tore the letter open hungrily. Inside was a small note that was scrawled in Ron's untidy script, Harry thrust it under the lamp and read:

Harry,

Someone is coming to get you. Dumbledore is really worried. Be ready.

Ron

Harry, who was still bleary eyed, shook his head to check that he wasn't still dreaming. When his jet black hair had more or less fallen messily back into place, Harry still couldn't believe what he had just read.

Why are they coming to get me so suddenly? he thought.

Harry was accustomed to spending part of the summer holidays with his friends, but usually plans like that were made weeks in advance, much to Harry's dismay. Harry couldn't help wondering what could make such a powerful wizard such as Dumbledore so worried.

"When are they coming? He hasn't even bothered to write that!"

Harry mumbled, with a small smile spreading on his lips, as he turned over the small scrap of paper to see if there was anymore writing on the back. There was none and Harry was now sufficiently excited that he stood up once more and began pacing his room, thinking aloud.

Harry realized that he ought to be more quiet for fear of waking his aunt and uncle, but he was too preoccupied with Ron's letter and, what it could possibly mean, for him to care.

Harry turned around once more and took a few steps towards the window when he heard a loud crack behind him. He recognized the crack as someone apparating right into his room. He spun around quickly, only to face one of his least favorite people, Severus Snape, sneering at him, a sardonic smile on his lips.

"What are YOU doing here?" Harry asked hotly. He felt very vulnerable standing wandless in front of Snape in his pajamas.

"I thought you would be more grateful to see me, Potter!" Snape sneered.

It was true that at some point during the summer, Harry felt so cut-off from the magical world that even the sight of Snape would have been comforting.

Apparently not! thought Harry darkly as he glared back at his hook-nosed companion.

"Come along, Potter and get your things together - we are leaving right now." Snape ordered.

Harry hated having to obey Snape but he gathered that things must be pretty bad in order for Dumbledore to send Snape to get him in the middle of the night.

Ron knew very well that Snape was going to be the "someone" who was coming to get me from the Dursleys! He could have warned me as much in his letter, Harry thought annoyed.

"Wait! Why do I have to leave right now? What's going on?!" Harry shouted, suddenly annoyed that he was just supposed to follow Snape without even having a clue as to where he was going.

"That is none of your concern, Potter, you are not, as you may have previously assumed, important enough to be entitled to know everything." Snape murmured dangerously.

He seemed to be relishing Harry's powerlessness.

"Now, if you would hurry a little and follow me, that is, provided your large head can fit through the door..." Snape continued as Harry stuffed his clothes into his trunk and slammed it shut, pretending that it was Snape he was craming into his trunk, and not his school robes.

As Harry closed Hedwig's cage and thrust it into Snape's arms (an action that was accompanied by a burst of white feathers that settled upon Aunt Petunia's carpet and a loud screech of indignation), he heard Uncle Vernon roar down the hall,

"What the bloody hell is going on in there Potter? Firing guns in the middle of the night?"

Uncle Vernon had obviously mistaken Snape's apparition with the blast of firearms. Harry continued to pack, unconcerned by the loud footsteps that preceded his uncle's large red face barging into his room.

In fact, Harry was almost glad that it had been Snape who came to fetch him from Privet Drive when he saw the effect that Snape's black robes, oily black hair, and black wand, now pointing at the doorway, were having on Uncle Vernon.

A scream was heard as Aunt Petunia joined them and ducked behind her husband, poking her large neck over his shoulders so that she could still see what was going on. Uncle Vernon's face quickly went from red to white at the sight to this ominous looking stranger who just appeared in their house in the dead of night. Dumbstruck, Uncle Vernon stammered,

"M-my m-mistake... m-must be in the w-wrong house, carry on..."

to Snape who looked as menacing as ever. Harry had to suppress a smile as he packed the last of his belongings into his trunk, making sure to remember his firebolt and invisibility cloak, two of his most prized possessions.

As if the scene wasn't comical enough, Snape was glowering at the Dursleys, all three of them now trembling in the doorway (Dudley had dutifully waddled down the hallway as well to see what the commotion was soon after Aunt Petunia) as he explained to them that he was taking Harry with him.

Harry wasn't surprised, based on the look of sheer terror in the Dursley's eyes, that they made no complaint and allowed Snape and Harry to pass them and walk down the hall. Harry turned around and waved goodbye to the Durselys who were now shivering with fright, pressed against the wall, (a difficult feat considering both Uncle Vernon's and Dudley's immense girth), and then turned to follow Snape's swirling dark robes down the stairs and out of Number Four Privet Drive into the night.