Harry Potter and the Seer's Stones

Rescue

A small, furry object collided with Harry's head a few times before he woke up. Pig, Ron's owl, was flying a bit above his head, hooting enthusiastically. Harry grabbed him gently and untied the letter Pig was carrying. Harry recognized the messy scrawl immediately. Ron.

Harry,

My mom's gonna ask Dumbledore if you can come. Hermione's here. Did you get the Daily Prophet? I'm sending you a copy with Hermes. I think it's strange. Thought you'd like to know.

Ron

The first sentence of the letter made Harry believe that there was hope of escaping the Dursleys earlier than he had expected (but this escape, though, was welcomed with open arms). Although as he continued reading, Harry felt his hopeful happiness ebb away and be replaced with dread at what might be written on the top of the Daily Prophet. Was it Harry's imagination, or did Ron seem more somber and less like his usual care-free, funny self?

A large brown barn owl flew in through the open window and dropped a thick rolled up newspaper, the Daily Prophet, on Harry's lap. This owl was Hermione's. Harry recognized it immediately as Hermes. It flew to Hedwig's (Harry's snowy owl) cage as Harry unrolled the newspaper. The headline caught his eye.

A Dugout Grave by Purity Jackson

Yesterday, a very peculiar site caught this reporter's eyes. As I passed a muggle cemetery, I noticed a grave that, from where I stood, seemed open and empty. When I approached it, though, I realized that the grave had infact been dugout. The skeleton of a woman's body lay at the bottom, sickly crumpled, dressed in dirty robes.

This dead woman's gravestone read her name and death and birth dates. Her name was Daralis Riddle and died at the age of 26. The Ministry of Magic is looking into it and trying to find out more about the person (or thing) that was responsible for this dugout grave.

The newspaper fell silently to the bed. What was written on it was more unusual than scary. It was strange. One name stuck to Harry's mind: Daralis Riddle. Daralis Riddle. Voldemort's real name was Tom Riddle. This last name wasn't at all common. Could this dead woman have anything to do with Tom Riddle? With Voldemort? And if so, then, how? The questions pounded in Harry's head mercilessly, one after the other. He picked up the nearest quill and a piece of parchment from his parchment littered floor.

Ron,

Get me out of here before I drive myself insane.

Harry

This was not very different from Harry's previous replies.

Days passed and there was no response from Ron or Hermione. Harry spent more time staring at his ceiling, waiting for an owl to come soaring into the room. He was doing just that when his uncle banged on the door and opened it.

"Your aunt and I are going out for dinner," Uncle Vernon grunted. Harry didn't blink.

"Mmm," Harry nodded, not taking his eyes off the ceiling.

"Dudley's coming," his uncle said. He seemed to be waiting for something. Harry sighed.

"Oh, please, Uncle Vernon, take me with you. This is the day I've always been waiting for, when I could accompany my, oh so lovely, family to a restaurant where they tell me what to wear- all so I could be surrounded by stuck-up rich snobs!" This seemed to be Uncle Vernon's cue.

"Absolutely NOT! You are not invited-" he started smugly.

"Oh, I am so disappointed," Harry interrupted his tone empty. But this empty tone seemed to satisfy his uncle because he left without another word. As soon as the door shut behind him, it was opened again. Dudley stood at the door, staring at Harry.

"We're going out."

"I know."

"Maybe you could invite Cedric darling or Sirius baby over," Dudley snickered. Harry didn't have enough energy to think of how to torture Dudley or enough brain power to think of a satisfying insult so he continued studying all the corners of the ceiling. Dudley soon got bored and thundered downstairs to wait for his parents. Unfortunately, patience had never been one of his strong points. After about a minute or so had passed, Dudley was yelling up to his parents so loud that Harry felt his bedroom floor rattle. Half an hour later, the Dursleys were backing out of the driveway and an owl, Pig, had landed on Harry's stomach. Quick as lightning, Harry was ripping open the envelope and reading Ron's letter.

Hey Harry,

Cheer up a bit, mate. ("Easy for you to say!") Anyway, I have some good news. Mum asked Dumbledore and he said you can come tomorrow and that a few guards will come to get you tomorrow morning. See you.

Ron

PS: Not much about the newspaper article.

Harry spent the rest of the night packing everything he owned into his school trunk, a little happier than the last time he had packed. He didn't know why, but Harry was determined to show the Weasleys and everyone from the wizarding world that he was fine. Last year, Harry was ballistic. He still felt the same, if not worse, inside, but he promised himself that he wouldn't let it show on the outside.

That night, Harry had a different dream. It wasn't Sirius dieing or Cedric. It wasn't the cemetery. The dream started off with Harry standing by a person, who was bowing in front of a large high-backed chair. The person who sat in the chair was pale. Too pale. Black hair streaked with grey framed the face but not really covered the cold red eyes that seemed to be looking right through your exterior; into your darkest deepest secret.

"Well, did you get them?" a cold raspy voice rang in the room. Its source: Voldemort.

The bowing figure in front of him shivered slightly.

"Yes, my lord. I found them in her grave. Her hands were clasped around them when she died. There were two-" The person's small voice sounded even smaller in the large circular room.

"Two! Bring them here, Wormtail!" The man stood up. He was short and had small watery eyes. He walked apprehensively towards Voldemort. Wormtail handed him two objects, each about the size of a golf ball. Harry didn't have enough time to look at them though. All he knew was their sizes and that now they were in Voldemort's hands. This fact made Voldemort overjoyed and, in turn, made Harry terrified. Suddenly, the room started fading. Voldemort's face was getting blurry. Harry was waking up screaming. His scar was searing with pain. It felt like it was on fire. His yelling did not improve things at all but he couldn't stop. Voldemort was happy. Very happy. Whenever he was too close to Harry or feeling a strong emotion, like now, Harry's scar would hurt. This time wasn't the worst, but it wasn't he best either. The pain on his forehead subsided slightly and it continued, becoming less and less painful until it was just tingling. Things were confusing now but Harry knew that, given time, they will get evn more confusing. He didn't know what Wormtail gave Voldemort. He didn't know why they made Voldemort happy. Hell, he didn't even know if they were real. It could be a trick. Just like the one that killed Sirius. Harry didn't know anything about this dream. But he did know what he was going to do: he would tell someone. Ron, probably. Or Hermione. Yeah, Hermione. For now, though, he couldn't do anything about it so he tried his best to get rid of the nagging voice in his head.

Unfortunately, Harry hadn't fully succeeded. At 11:30, Harry dressed and was ready waiting patiently for any members of the Order to come and take him. One of the Dursleys would occasionally walk by, stare at him a bit, and continued walking leaving behind a silent hall. Uncle Vernon decided to break the deafening yet strangely comforting silence.

"What are you waiting here for?" he asked

"Oh, didn't I tell you? Someone's going to come take me," Harry said nonchalantly. Uncle Vernon's bush of a mustache rustled a bit and then, as if giving off a warning to take cover, a vein on his temple started throbbing.

"What? Who? Who told you you could invite those freaks here? When did you ask if you could leave? How and when are they coming? Answer me, you little-" Uncle Vernon exploded. He was talking, or rather, screaming so fast, the words were jumbled and hard to understand when they found their way to his mouth.

"I don't know who's coming to pick me up. I don't know when they'll do it or how. All I know is that some people-"

"People? There's more than one?"

Harry sighed in frustration. "Yes," he began slowly, "people will pick me up today and I won't see you until next summer. I didn't invite them. They're not staying; they're just here for 5 minutes. Oh, and I didn't ask you because they didn't tell me to ask you. I guess they'll get me out of here whether you like it or not. I think it might be Moody who picks me up. You know, the one you met in the train station," Harry smiled. His uncle's reaction to the news was funny. His purple angry face quickly lost its color at the mention of Moody. He kept his bitter tone to a minimum when he talked back to Harry. All this because of Moody's warning to Uncle Vernon the end of last year.

"Well, got all your stuff ready?" I don't want them spending anymore time here than absolutely necessary. And they better not destroy anything in my house. Understood?" Uncle Vernon did not wait for an answer. He just stormed out of the room muttering "Freaks!"

At exactly 2:41, someone knocked on the door. Harry jumped off the stairs he was sitting on and opened the door hurriedly. There, lined up as if they came around to buy something, were at least 8 members of the Order. All of them smiled warmly at Harry. The man at the front was Remus Lupin, Harry's former teacher and a friend of Sirius and James Potter, Harry's dad. His smile faltered slightly as he looked over Harry's physical state.

"Hello, Harry. How have you been doing?" Lupin asked shaking Harry's hand.

"Fine. Hello, everyone," Harry said eager to leave. A chorus of "Hi"'s and "Hello"'s erupted from the small crowd.

"I'll go get my trunk!" Harry ran up the stairs two at a time. This was probably the best he's felt in a long time.

Harry had managed to get his trunk to the top of the stairs before he realized that he needed some help.

"Hey, could-" Before, he could finish his sentence; Tonks (another member of the Order) had shrunk his trunk to the size of a tennis ball and handed it to him.

"Thanks!" She nodded and they both made their way downstairs to the rest of the witches and wizards who were still standing at the door.

"I'll have to go tell your uncle that we're going now," Lupin said.

"Oh no, it's ok. Hold on," Harry said. He opened the door and yelled, "Oi! I'm leaving!" and closed the door. "Let's go!"