Living in the Past

*******

Chapter 2: Present Losses

"Anything loved can be lost." -- Barenaked Ladies, "Falling for the First Time"

*****

Harry silently moved down the hallway so he could see the front door. Something is very wrong here, he realized. I didn't hear a car pull up; I don't hear keys jingling. This is very bad.

As the front door opened, Harry's eye caught on the silver gleam of the doorknob of 4 Privet Drive. But our door has a brass knob, the back of Harry's brain informed him.

Suddenly, Harry realized the silver glint wasn't coming from the doorknob.

It was coming from the hand on the doorknob.

*****

Harry knew instantly who was at the door. Only one person in either the wizarding or Muggle worlds had a fully functional hand made entirely of silver.

"Wormtail," he silently gasped. How did he get in? What about the protections? This can't be happening. What am I going to do? Thoughts raced through Harry's head as he slowly and silently backed into his room.

Maybe I'm dreaming, and this isn't actually happening, he thought once he was back in his room. Okay, Harry, on 3, wake up. 1 . . . 2 . . . 3! He blinked. Everything looked the same. So, I'm not dreaming, then. Maybe I'm being influenced by a spell, or some Dark magic. Well, either that, or Pettigrew is actually here. Either way, he thought, I should get out of here, since I'm not safe. Time to be Hermione and use logic under pressure, Harry told himself. Calm down and think. Now, I can't get my wand without Pettigrew seeing me, Harry reasoned, so no spells are going to help me. I can't hide under my Invisibility Cloak, because that's there, too. He cursed himself for his lack of foresight. What if I made some noise to distract Pettigrew . . . but then what do I do? He thought for a few seconds, then he remembered the fire ladder under the bed in Dudley's room. Okay, here's the plan, he told himself, moving back towards his door. Make some noise, get down the ladder, get to the cupboard, grab my wand and Firebolt, and fly away. He was about to move to Dudley's room to put the plan into action when he heard a familiar screech behind him. He whipped around.

"Hedwig," he whispered. "Fly away, now! Go back to Dumbledore," he hissed. Then, he heard a footstep at the landing. He turned around to find Pettigrew, his wand drawn, pointing right at him.

"Avada Kedavra!" Pettigrew yelled.

***

Pettigrew was very pleased that his master had trusted him with this assignment. Well, he thought to himself, it wasn't like he had a choice in the matter. I'm the only one who was qualified to do it. He felt slightly guilty about having to do what his master had asked him to do to the boy that had once saved his life, the son of the friend he had betrayed. "But James betrayed me first," he softly lied to himself. "He was never my friend. He just pretended he was. He used me." Deep down, he knew that none of what he said was true, that he was rationalizing his decision after the fact. He knew that James had never done anything to intentionally hurt him, that it was only his own cowardice that had led him into the service of Lord Voldemort. It was a "join or die" situation, and he chose to join. However, he remembered when, a little more than a year ago, his former friends had told him they would have chosen to die to protect him rather than take the cowardly route of becoming a Death Eater.

I'll think about this later, he thought to himself. I have a job to do now, and I need a clear head for it. He looked around to make sure no Muggles were watching. Suddenly, he became the rat that had given him his nickname, Wormtail.

He knew that he had a mile to go before he reached 4 Privet Drive, but if he went any closer in his human form, he would set off one of the alarm wards which surrounded Harry at all times. However, as Wormtail, he managed to find a small gap between two protection spells that he could wriggle through. For a rat, a mile is a pretty long distance, so he set off, passing the time by going over the tasks his master had set him to.

*

About two hours later, he reached the house that he knew Harry had lived in for the past fourteen years. Along the way, there had been some close calls, including a run-in with a speeding black Mercedes about forty-five minutes earlier, but he had made it. He knew it was now or never, that this was his last chance to try to return to his master without following his instructions, all for a boy he could no longer care about, a boy that reminded him only of the friend he betrayed and the woman he could never have. Once again, his cowardice won out, for he knew that the Cruciatus curse would await him if he returned without successfully completing his mission. He became Peter once again, and pulled out his wand.

He tried the doorknob, and found that it was locked. He gently whispered, "Alohomora," and he heard the lock click magically open. He opened the door with the silver hand that was both his greatest asset and his greatest shame. It was his constant reminder that he was forever in the debt of his master and forever bound to him. It also represented his permanent separation from his former friends, as the silver that was part of his entire being was fatal to his werewolf former friend, Remus Lupin.

He drew his wand as he entered the house. He looked around. It seemed empty. He cursed at himself; if Harry wasn't there, he hadn't needed to walk the whole way there as a rat. He set about his tasks, thinking to himself, The cupboard under the stairs . . . that's his bedroom.

His master had explicitly told him that he was to only stun anyone he found there and not kill anyone, especially Harry, unless it was absolutely unavoidable. "Killing Harry Potter is a pleasure I reserve for myself alone," Voldemort had told Pettigrew before he had left. "If you absolutely must kill him, then go ahead, but I will be severely displeased with you. And don't kill the Muggles he lives with either. They make his life miserable, and so they serve my needs." Pettigrew thought his master was an egomaniac for wanting to deal with Harry himself, but he wisely refrained from expressing that sentiment in front of him.

He moved to the cupboard under the stairs, and slowly opened it, his wand at the ready in case Harry was in there. He breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn't. It had been hard enough for him to take Harry's blood last month, let alone cast a spell on him that could injure him. He knew that he owed Harry his life, and that he would have to pay that debt somehow, for he could not effectively serve his master if he owed his master's greatest enemy anything.

The first thing he came across was something he had never wanted to see again: James's old Invisibility Cloak. His master had not given him instructions as to what to do with this. Why didn't my master tell me what to do with this? Pettigrew asked himself. He must have known that it would be here. Could he have just forgotten about it? Pettigrew asked himself, but then quickly realized what a blasphemous statement that was. His master knew everything and could never be wrong or forgetful. His master was the greatest wizard of all time and never made mistakes or errors in judgement.

After Pettigrew's slight panic attack, he quickly decided that the best thing to do was to put the Cloak on. He knew that he might have escape quickly, and, due to the Anti-Apparation ward around Harry's house (the reason he walked in the first place), the Invisibility Cloak would be his best bet. My master will appreciate the irony, he thought, of using his enemy's possession to escape from him. Plus, I'm sure that my master could make good use of this, and its loss will only unnerve Potter even more, which is why I'm here in the first place. Well, in addition to a few practical matters . . .

Wormtail then set his sights on Harry's Firebolt, the first of the so-called "practical matters" he was here to take care of. Voldemort's former spy at Hogwarts had informed Voldemort about Potter's flying skills based on his performance during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. Voldemort knew that every skill or advantage that Potter possessed needed to be eliminated or hindered during this mission. Plus, Pettigrew thought, it must be very dear to Potter, as Sirius gave it to him. Ironic, isn't it? James trusted Sirius enough to become Harry's godfather, but not enough to make him their Secret Keeper. Peter cringed at the memory of James. Focus, Peter chided himself, focus on the tasks at hand.

Peter considered what the best way to deal with the Firebolt would be. I'm feeling in an ironic mood, he thought. "Inflamaro Interno," Peter muttered, pointing his wand at the Firebolt. A red stream shot from it and engulfed the Firebolt. At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then, the broomstick shuddered and smoked, then burst into flame from the inside out. The twigs of the tail smoldered, crinkled, and burned to nothingness. The handle charred, crackled, and split the golden curvy lettering that spelled out "Firebolt." The only feature left unscarred was the golden registration number along the top of the handle. Before the fire got out of control and set off a smoke detector, Pettigrew pronounced, "Finis Incantato." The broken remains of Harry's prized broomstick fell there on the floor of the closet.

Next, Pettigrew turned his attention to Harry's wand. This is what Voldemort had been most insistent on Pettigrew successfully completing. "That boy had nothing on me last time except that damn wand of his," Voldemort had told Wormtail. "How could I have known that our wands shared cores? See that that won't happen the next time."

There's only one way to destroy a wand, Pettigrew reminded himself. The words of Professor McGonagall came back to Peter from her Advanced Magical Theory class (which Peter had taken as an elective class in his final year at Hogwarts). A wand is so magical that almost no destructive spells will have an effect on it. Even a simple Prior Incantato spell can backfire if done carelessly, since a wand contains that much inherent magic. No, the only effective way to destroy a wand is also probably the simplest, but to do so without proper authorization or reason can have grave consequences . . . Pettigrew took Harry's wand in his hands, and paused for but a moment. He never had found out exactly what the "grave consequences" were, but he suspected that Professor McGonagall had just made that up so they wouldn't be tempted to go about doing it to each other's wands. He knew that there were legal consequences, but he wasn't very concerned about them at the moment. He had Lord Voldemort on his side, and he was above all wizarding law except for that of his master.

He took Harry's wand, held it between his hands, and snapped the holly and phoenix feather Ollivander creation clean in half, which discharged a small shower of red and gold sparks before the wand seemed to dull and die.

***

Hundreds of miles away, Fawkes the phoenix woke with a start.

He knew instantly, instinctually that something was wrong with someone to whom he was linked. When he opened his eyes and saw that his master was safe, he knew it must have been the other person to whom he was connected.

While Fawkes was loyal to anyone whom his master trusted, he was, like all phoenixes, completely faithful to only two people at any time: Dumbledore, his master, and Harry Potter, the person to whom he was bequeathed. Fawkes knew it was more than mere fate that had given Harry the wand containing his second feather. The wand, and the feather within, had chosen Harry Potter, and Fawkes was eternally bound to him. That was why Fawkes had been able to help Harry down in the Chamber of Secrets.

Fawkes shook as he remembered the one who owned his other feather. He remembered the dark times when he had been linked to his master's greatest enemy, and it took almost all of his will power to not be drawn into loyalty to that Dark wizard. He remembered the famous quote: "Fate, it seems, is not without a sense of irony." Fawkes was grateful when his feather had stopped being used for Dark magic and even more grateful, ten years later, when his other feather was purchased and he became linked to one loyal to his master. As an eternal creature, Fawkes knew the need for balance in the world, and the evil his previous link had done would somehow, someday be balanced out.

Fawkes knew he had to alert his master to the danger. However, he was very weak, as he was recovering from a parasitic infection that had drained some of his magical healing powers. He feebly flew to his master's shoulders, who, to be honest, was not particularly pleased to see him that instant, as he was in the middle of an important meeting.

" . . . and I'm going to go inspect the wards right after this meeting adjourns tonight," Arabella Figg said.

"Very good," said Dumbledore.

"Molly wanted me to ask if there was any chance at all of Harry visiting us this summer," Arthur Weasley inquired.

"Would she mind if I showed up as well?" Sirius Black asked. "I haven't had a decent home-cooked meal in ages. Oh, and I'd really like to see Harry, too," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"My cooking is perfectly fine," Remus Lupin said indignantly.

Black sighed. "Moony, I tasted rats in that cave in Hogsmeade that were better than your Vegan Stuffed Shells."

"It's not my fault you don't like tofu, Padfoot."

"Maybe it's because I'm a carnivore like normal people."

"Amusing and informative as this banter is," interjected Dumbledore, "it does not resolve the question at hand. And calm down, Fawkes."

"Our mascot's not looking too well," sneered Mundungus Fletcher.

"He's just cranky because he's still feeling sick," Dumbledore replied. Or at least I hope that's why, he thought to himself.

"Well?" prodded Arthur.

Dumbledore smiled. "I hope you won't find it presumptuous of me that I told Harry he could go to your house directly after the memorial service later this week. I had guessed that you would invite him and I don't think it would hurt Harry to have a chance to have some good times on his summer holidays. In addition, I think that if he were to become, shall we say, distraught at the service, that it would be best if he were with you and Molly, and, hopefully, Sirius as well."

Arthur beamed. "I'm sure it won't be a problem at all."

Professor McGonagall spoke up. "I shall inspect and strengthen the wards around the Weasleys' house tomorrow."

"Excellent, Minerva," said Dumbledore. "Now, before we discuss this owl I received from Hagrid, I think Severus should report on potential Death Eater recruitment and the possibility of spies for Voldemort here at Hogwarts."

But before Professor Snape could speak, a shrill, tinny noise filled the room. Arabella Figg gasped.

"That's my remote Sneakoscope," she said. "Somebody's just used Dark Magic at Harry's house!"

***

After Pettigrew had broken Harry's wand, he looked around the cupboard a little while longer to see if there was anything else there for him to steal or destroy. He found nothing (but he almost got a nasty bite from The Monster Book of Monsters), so he got ready to leave. However, just as he was about to go, he heard a screech from upstairs. That must be Harry's owl, he thought. I should get rid of it, too. I'm sure it will really upset him, and my master will approve of that. Knowing how difficult it was to move while under the Invisibility Cloak, and aware of the fact that casting spells through a piece of fabric generally doesn't work, he removed the cloak, hung it on the banister of the stairs, and crept upstairs to the landing.

He came to the room from which he heard the noise. The room was empty except for a trunk and some spellbooks, which he assumed were Harry's, some furniture, and the source of the noise, a snowy white owl. It was carrying a letter bearing Harry's name in loopy, narrow writing that he recognized as Dumbledore's.

He snickered as he raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra!" he shouted as a burst of green death hit the owl squarely in her chest. Pettigrew noticed that the green spell energy seemed to shimmer before hitting Hedwig, but he knew that his spell had worked anyway as the owl hit the floor.

Dead.

***

As Harry saw the green death coming towards him, he thought to himself, This is it. I'm finally getting my wish. I'm going to see my parents again. And nobody else will have to die because of me.

But then the spell passed him, about a foot to his left. Too late, Harry realized what Pettigrew was doing.

"Hedwig!" he shouted, but she had already hit the floor; Dumbledore's reply to him still strapped to her leg.

He turned to face Pettigrew, a blind rage overcoming him.

"You . . . bastard!" he shouted, and charged Pettigrew head-on.

***

Pettigrew started walking over to the owl. I bet my master would like to see what Dumbledore wrote his favorite student, he reasoned.

But, before he could reach her, a sudden impact threw him to the ground. His wand flew out of his hand and landed a few feet away from him.

What's going on? he asked himself, looking around. I don't see anything. A ward? A poltergeist? What just happened?

He tried to get up, but a weight on his chest stopped him. He reached over to get his wand to cast a detection spell, only to find that it had been knocked away several feet. There is definitely some very odd magic going on in this house, he thought to himself. I should transform and get out as soon as I can.

He prepared to turn himself into Wormtail when he felt sudden pains on his face, almost like an invisible person was punching him. Then he felt it again. The pain caused too much of a distraction for the mental concentration he required to change. Instinctually, he tried to fight back by throwing a punch with his silver hand. He heard a clang, almost like his hand had hit metal. Of course, his silver hand felt no pain, but his right arm felt jarred from the impact.

He was struggling against the weight on him to right himself so that he could retrieve his wand and get out of there when he heard a voice behind him. "Harry, get off him now!" it screamed.

***

"Go, Arabella!" Dumbledore shouted. "We'll be there shortly."

Arabella Figg nodded with understanding, then did the thing she had hoped she would never have to do. She broke open the pendant she had worn around her neck for the past fourteen years and let the small golden ball within drop into her hand.

It was her emergency Portkey to 4 Privet Drive.

She felt the tug behind her navel as the world spun and raced past her. She came to a sudden halt at the open door of the Dursleys' house.

No time for my disguise, she thought as she drew her wand and raced up the stairs to Harry's room. When she got to the open door, she was greeted with a very strange sight.

There was a dead owl on the floor for starters.

But even stranger than that was the sight of Harry Potter on top of a small bald man she didn't recognize. Harry was pummeling this man with all he had. Then, she saw the man's silver hand try to punch Harry back, but it was deflected by one of the protective wards around Harry. She saw a wand lying on the floor under the set of dressers, so she knew that the man was unarmed.

She knew the best option was to stun the man, but she worried about hitting Harry. Also, the wards around him might extend to protect the bald man.

Harry was too busy punching the man to notice her, so she yelled, just as the man tried to get up, "Harry, get off him now!"

Harry looked up at her in shock. "What? Who . . ." he started to say.

"No time to explain, just move!" Arabella commanded him.

As Harry moved off the man, he started to stand up, but Arabella hadn't won the Upper Form Dueling Championship all three years she was eligible at Hogwarts for nothing. With her lightening reflexes, she pointed her wand at the man. "Stupefy!" she yelled, and the man fell back down, and lay still.

***

Suddenly, Pettigrew felt the punches stop. I'm getting out of here, he thought, right now. He started to get up, and saw his wand underneath the set of dressers. As he moved to retrieve it, he heard the voice again, saying, "No time to explain, just move!"

He turned around and saw a vaguely familiar woman at the bedroom door, her wand pointing right at him.

Just then, the woman yelled, "Stupefy!" A red bolt was heading right at him.

His last conscious thought before hitting the ground was: Arabella?

***

Harry knocked Pettigrew to the ground and started punching him as hard as he could.

Just because I don't have my wand, he thought, doesn't mean I can't pay you back for all you've done to me. This is for my parents, he thought with the first punch, which connected squarely with Pettigrew's jaw, though Harry's hand didn't feel a thing. And this is for Cedric and Hedwig, he thought with his next punches. Harry thought it was odd that Pettigrew didn't seem to be fighting back. He had thrown one punch with his silver hand, but Harry thought it must have missed him, as he didn't feel it connect. And these are for the twelve years Sirius spent in Azkaban, he thought, moving his punches down to Pettigrew's stomach. He felt Pettigrew squirm beneath him, as if he were trying to get up.

Suddenly, Harry heard a vaguely familiar voice shout at him, "Harry, get off him now!"

He looked up at his bedroom door. He saw a young woman there he was fairly certain he had never seen before, pointing her wand at Pettigrew. Or is she pointing it at me? he wondered. "What? Who . . ." he started to ask her.

"No time to explain, just move!" the woman commanded him.

Harry thought that it would be best to comply, as she did have a wand pointing in his general direction. He got off Pettigrew, who then started to get up.

But the woman was quicker, and yelled, "Stupefy!" Pettigrew lay still on the ground.

Harry stood up. The room was silent. Everything was still.

He surveyed the scene, not knowing what to do first. He had so many questions and emotions running through his mind that he wasn't sure what the best course of action would be.

Finally, he decided to go see his faithful and innocent Hedwig, who had died for doing nothing wrong, nothing at all.

He picked up her warm, dead body and cradled her in his arms. He thought back to his eleventh birthday, his first day as a wizard, when Hagrid had given him Hedwig as a birthday present, his first real birthday present ever. Ever since then, Hedwig had been not merely a pet or a servant, but a friend. Finally, Harry couldn't hold back the flood of emotions he was feeling any longer. His face, which before had been contorted with anger, crumbled, and the tears started flowing, first in choked sobs, then in a full stream.

Arabella, who had gone to check on the man whom she had stunned, heard Harry start to cry. She hesitated nervously, as she had never been in a situation where she had to play mother before. I hope Dumbledore gets here soon, she thought, though she knew it would be several more minutes at least, since they first had to leave the Hogwarts grounds, then Apparate outside the wards, then get to Harry's house . . . it was going to be awhile.

She sighed, then walked over to Harry. She put her arms around him and held him to her. He kept his arms around Hedwig. For awhile, the only sounds in the room were Harry's sobs. Finally, Harry calmed down, laid Hedwig down on his bed, took his glasses off, wiped his face, and put them back on.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Arabella asked.

"I don't think so," Harry replied, "and I don't think I will be for awhile, but I've calmed down for the moment. Thanks for stunning Pettigrew for me, by the way, but who are you?" he asked.

"Pettigrew? Peter Pettigrew? That's who that is?" she asked Harry.

"Er, I believe so, but you can never be too sure nowadays," Harry responded. "I've had enough experiences with Polyjuice Potion to not trust appearances anymore."

"Oh my-- I didn't recognize him . . ." she trailed off.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Harry broke it by saying, "Er, pardon me, but who exactly are you?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry," smiled Arabella. "I forgot you wouldn't recognize me in this form. Perhaps this one is more familiar to you . . ." Before Harry's eyes, the woman's smooth face grew wrinkled and her brown hair grayed. She became a few inches shorter and gained some weight. Harry gasped.

"Mrs.-- Mrs. Figg?" he stammered.

"Yes, Harry," she said in her kindly, old voice. "Though technically it's Ms. Figg, but please call me Arabella" she explained as she turned back to her young body.

"How . . . why . . . what . . .?" Harry said, unable to complete his questions. Fortunately, Arabella had a pretty good idea of what they were.

"Harry, you know how Sirius is an Animagus? Well I'm what's called a Homimagus. I can change my body into other human forms as long as they aren't too dissimilar from my own. I can't mimic every detail of another person, so it's not as effective as Polyjuice Potion is, but it fools people who can only see me from a distance. And it's great for disguises, as you can tell." And also a lot of fun in bed, she thought to herself. Not now, a more serious internal voice chided her.

"Almost fourteen years ago," she continued, "Dumbledore sent me here to keep an eye on you, as a backup in case any of the magical protections surrounding you failed as well as to continually reinforce them. I had to disguise myself because most of . . .You-Know-Who's minions knew what my regular body looked like."

"That must have been pretty boring," Harry said. "How'd you get stuck with that job?"

Arabella blushed. "Well, I wouldn't say it was boring. I had to always be alert, and there were several instances of suspicious activity or close calls that you probably don't know about. Remember when I broke my leg the summer before you started Hogwarts?" Harry nodded. "Well, I didn't trip over one of my Kneazles."

"Those were Kneazles?" Harry asked. "What exactly are they? I remember reading something about them in one of my textbooks, though I'm pretty sure Hagrid didn't cover them in class."

"Yes, I'm sure Hagrid didn't; he would consider them too cute and furry to qualify as Magical Creatures," Arabella joked. Harry laughed. "And some of them were actually cats, but I'll tell you about Kneazles some other time; after living with them for that long I've become an expert. But anyway, what really happened was that I saw Lucius Malfoy in the area. I thought it seemed suspicious, so I tried to run after him, but he put the Jelly Legs hex on me, even though he thought I was just some random Muggle. Well, I tried to remove it myself, but messed up on my right leg and broke the bone. At that point, I was able to get to a Muggle hospital without arousing suspicion, and they put a cast on it."

Harry got the feeling that Arabella wasn't telling him something about this encounter, but he decided to let it go. "Why didn't you ever say anything to me before?" Harry asked.

"Oh, Harry, I wanted to so badly, every time those horrid Dursleys left you with me," she said. "But I was forbidden to. It was so hard for me, Harry. I knew your parents, and I could only imagine all that you missed out on because of . . . You-Know-Who."

"You know," Harry said, "you can call him Voldemort. I'm not afraid of the name."

Figg winced slightly, but said, "You're right, Harry."

Harry took a deep breath. "Okay, here's the million Galleon question," he said. "What happened tonight?"

Figg sighed. "I don't know if I can tell you for certain. Here's what I do know: I was at a meeting at Hogwarts when my remote Sneakoscope went off. I used my emergency Portkey, arrived at your door, and stunned Peter. I don't know how he got through the wards; I was set to strengthen them tomorrow. The protections around you personally did hold up, though. That's why he couldn't see you, and the punch he threw at you was deflected. If he had cast any minor spells at you, which would have been hard to do as he couldn't see you, they probably would have been deflected as well. That's why I yelled at you to get off Peter before I stunned him, in case it you accidentally deflected it onto me." Arabella frowned. "If only I had been at home tonight: I would have known he was here before he got to your house."

They sat in silence for a moment. "So," Harry said, "what happens now? Do I have to stay here for the rest of the summer?"

"Ummm," Arabella said. She hesitated because she knew that Dumbledore had addressed this issue in the letter still attached to Hedwig's dead body. "Well, this kind of changes things. Professor Dumbledore should be here soon, and we can discuss it with him."

As if on cue, Harry heard footsteps, no, pawsteps, running up the walk to 4 Privet Drive. He heard a sharp bark, and then, a few seconds later, a familiar male voice yelling, "Harry? Harry!"

"Sirius!" Harry yelled, glancing over at Arabella.

"Go downstairs and see your godfather," Arabella told Harry. "I'll guard Peter."

Harry ran downstairs into the warm embrace of his godfather. "Sirius," he started sobbing, "Wormtail attacked me, and he killed Hedwig, and . . ." He trailed off as the tears took over once again.

Sirius said nothing, but cradled Harry in his arms warmly and let him cry.

After a few minutes, when Harry had cried himself out for the time being, they heard a small cough from behind them. They turned around and saw the smiling face of Albus Dumbledore in the doorway. "Oh, please, don't interrupt this touching moment on my account," he said. From anyone else, it would have sounded sarcastic, but Dumbledore made it sound caring and kind.

"I think Harry was about finished anyway," Sirius said, handing Harry a handkerchief.

"Alright," said Dumbledore, now turning his attention to Harry. "And how are you, Harry?"

"Well, my owl's dead, I thought Pettigrew was going to kill me, I can't stop thinking about the night Voldemort returned, and I'm an emotional wreck who bursts into tears about every five minutes. Frankly, I'm not doing too well," Harry replied.

"Pettigrew?" Dumbledore asked.

"He's upstairs, stunned by Mrs. Figg-- Arabella, I mean," Harry said. "He's the one who attacked me."

"Harry, that's wonderful!" Sirius exclaimed. "I mean, I'm sorry about Hedwig and all, but with Pettigrew captured, I can prove my innocence. Dumbledore--"

"I'm on it, Sirius," he said, pulling out a small microphone-like device from the pocket of his robes. He opened the top of the device, which looked to Harry like it contained a small green fire, and said, "Minerva McGonagall."

A few seconds later, Harry heard Professor McGonagall's voice come from the device, saying "Yes, Albus?"

"Please contact someone from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who is in the know about the current situation to come to Harry's house at once. We have Peter Pettigrew," he said into the device.

"That's wonderful news, Albus," she said. "I'll do it right away. How about Michael Fawcett? His family is friends with the Diggorys. Is Harry okay?" she asked.

"Wonderful, Minerva. Yes, Harry is unharmed. We'll talk more when I return to Hogwarts. Goodbye," he said as he closed the device.

"What is that?" Harry asked.

"A portable Floo communicator," Dumbledore replied. "Latest model. Basically, the wizarding version of Muggle cellular phones."

Harry was about to express his interest in acquiring one of those for himself when he heard Sirius scream behind him.

"What did that bastard do?" he screamed. Harry and Dumbledore walked to Harry's former bedroom, only to discover Sirius holding the charred remains of Harry's Firebolt.

"Oh, no!" Harry exclaimed. "Sirius, I'm so sorry. I know how expensive that was . . ."

"Harry, Harry, it's fine. I had it insured. I just thought that to do such a thing to a Firebolt is criminal in and of itself, ignoring the fact that this was a criminal act of property destruction," Sirius explained.

"You sound like Ron," Harry grinned. "Why did you have it insured?" he asked.

"Well, after I saw what happened to your Nimbus," he said, "I felt like you were especially accident prone and that insurance was a good idea."

"You'll pardon me if I don't seem concerned about the condition of Harry's broomstick," Dumbledore said, "especially considering this." He held up the two broken pieces of Harry's wand.

"My wand!" Harry exclaimed, then let out a stream of curses that shocked even Sirius, who, after all, had lived in prison for twelve years and had heard almost every curse in the book.

"I don't think Pettigrew would be able to go to the bathroom for at least a month if that happened to him," Sirius said weakly.

"Note to self," Dumbledore said, "strengthen the Euphemism charms in the Gryffindor common room."

"Oh, sorry, Professor," Harry said, blushing.

Dumbledore smiled. "A joke, my boy. I have heard those words before, you know."

"Ah," Harry replied. "It's just that my wand is really important to me, and it's--well, it was--one of my greatest weapons against Voldemort."

"I'm sure that was one of the main reasons Voldemort sent Pettigrew here tonight," Dumbledore sighed. "Well, I'll try to coax another feather out of Fawkes so that Mr. Ollivander can make you a replacement wand, but wand creation is a long process. You'll need to get a temporary wand for this school year." Dumbledore took a deep breath. "And I believe that I owe you an apology, Harry, as I am the one who removed your wand from your possession."

"No, you did what you thought was right. You know that Voldemort and I are already very connected, and we don't know to what extent the connection goes both ways. You couldn't have known what was going to happen. There's no point feeling guilty about it," Harry said.

"Very wisely put, Harry, so I hope you won't be offended if I ask you to remember that advice," Dumbledore said, his periwinkle eyes twinkling.

Harry frowned. He knew what Dumbledore was talking about. "It's not that simple, Professor," he explained.

Sirius was still in shock about the whole cursing thing. "Wait, wait, wait. Where did you hear all those words anyway?" he asked.

"Sirius," Harry said moodily, "those words were fourteen years of pent up anger and frustration all coming out at once. Why does everyone have this whole 'Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, sweetness and light' image of me? Everyone expects me to be perfect, and I'm not; you two know that."

Dumbledore looked slightly more sternly at Harry. "I've never asked for perfection from anybody, Harry, and that includes myself." Harry had the grace to look embarrassed at this. "Now, we need to talk quickly about what the plan for the rest of the summer is for you. Did you get a chance to read my letter?" he asked. As he saw Harry's eyes start to tear up again, he said, "Ah, I see that that was perhaps not the best question to ask at this time."

Harry removed his glasses and wiped his eyes. "No, it's okay, Professor. It's just . . . upsetting to me, that she's dead. But I'll be fine."

"I understand, Harry. Now, the original plan was--" Dumbledore started to say, but was interrupted by a scream coming from behind him.

Harry whipped his head around to see the faces of the Dursley family, Petunia shocked, Dudley scared, and Vernon angry, standing on the front porch.

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" Uncle Vernon yelled.