Harry Potter and The Cursed Friend

The neat houses on the ordered row of Privet Drive, stood staunchly straight, a tribute to the normalcy of that street. Bees buzzed around the gardens, children played tag in one of the yards, a man in number seven was washing his car, and nothing out of the ordinary happened at all. In fact, nothing out of the ordinary had happened all summer. No odd bangs startled people at strange times of day. No strange cats slouched around the street, seeming to read road signs or watch people. No one was suddenly seized by bottomless dispair, and the denizens of Privet Drive had exactly four people to thank for this quiet: Harry Potter and the Dursleys, all of whom lived in the fourth house on this very same street.

Harry Potter was upstairs putting the finishing touches on a letter to the members of the Order of the Phoenix. Thus far the Dursleys, his horrible relatives, had adopted a policy of strict non-interaction whenever possible. He frowned at it as he reread the parchment, his green eyes looking for anything that did not quite read correctly. Normally, he didn't worry so much over his letters, but this was one of his more important correspondences, and he didn't want to come out sounding wrong. At the end of the last school year an auror named "Mad-Eye" Moody had told him that if he hadn't contacted the Order for three consecutive days then they would send someone around to check on him. The Dursleys had been remarkably well-behaved for them, and so he'd held up his end of the bargain and written faithfully.

As he rolled up the parchment, secured it, and handed it to Hedwig, his owl, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He'd grown since his fifth year. Filled out some more in his chest and shoulders. He was a little taller, too. His hair was still just as crazy now as it ever was, and his green eyes sparkled behind glasses that he'd never stopped needing. His father's face, but his mother's eyes. That's what everyone said. He was still small for his age. Bony. But he no longer seemed malnourished or sickly. Quidditch and life-threatening adventures once a year had given him an athlete's look.

Ironically, the Dursley's new non-interaction policy had guaranteed them something that no amount of interfering in Harry's life had ever gotten them. Because Harry had completed his OWLs he was now free to perform magic anytime he wished. That also meant he was free to prevent any other magic from being performed if he had the power to do so. He received and sent mail only at night or in the early morning. Any spells he had to perform were done in his room under a carefully cast silencing spell. The Dursley's said nothing about this revelation, of course, but Harry felt quietly victorious in the extreme.

His OWL results were another thing that had gone right over the Summer. They were wonderful. He had pulled Os in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, and--to his shock--Potions. He had amazed himself and gotten an E in Herbology, but had only managed an A in History of Magic and Astronomy. He had a feeling that the Astronomy testers had taken pity on his class. He had scored a very low D in Divination though, which made him incredibly happy. He would never have to take the class again. This gave him seven OWLs, put him squarely on track for a career as an Auror, and gave him a slightly lighter course load for the next two years.

He looked over his things, packed and ready for the trip tomorrow. A lot had occurred over the summer. Much too much. The owls that came bearing the news that Professor McGonagall and Hagrid had died had convinced Harry that Voldemort was not going to just lie low any more.

As a result of these deaths, Charlie Weasley had returned from Romania. He was going to teach Care Of Magical Creatures. Snape had been promoted to Deputy Headmaster, and Dumbledore himself had taken over Transfiguration.

Harry sighed and gave the parchment to Hedwig. He would catch the Knight Bus to King's Cross in London tomorrow and be on his way to school. His homework was done, his bags were packed, and he had gifts for his friends.

That was something that had occurred to him this summer after he'd caught the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley to shop. He had five friends now that he wouldn't trade for the world. For so long it had been just him, Ron, and Hermione. But now Luna, Ginny, and Neville had stepped in and somehow he couldn't imagine his life without them anymore. The six of them had out-battled Death Eaters and while that put had them all in danger, it also made them all comrades and confidants. While he'd been in Diagon Alley, he'd spotted gifts that had suited them all right down to the ground and had to get them. For Luna he'd found a rucksack made entirely out of bottlecaps to go with her necklace. Neville (who'd lost Trevor permanently over the summer) was going to receive a brand new owl, colored a very deep black. Harry wasn't sure why, but the owl had seemed somehow appropriate for Neville. Ron's gift of a brand new and very unique set of chessmen seemed entirely appropriate. It was a very ornate set, enchanted as wizard's chessmen had to be, made out of solid pewter.

For Ginny he'd looked a very long time, but nothing had ever seemed quite right to him. He'd managed to find something for everyone else, but finally, for her, he'd settled on a small oval locket, though he placed no pictures in it, with a basilisk etched on the front. The witch at the shop said it was a very ominous gift, but Harry had assured her the recipient would understand.

Angel brought in his mail, looking around his apartment more out of habit, than necessity. Spike and Illyria had finally given up on dealing with him at all and taken off to go their separate ways. Finally, the dark vampire was left in blissful quiet. Wesley, dead; Cordelia, dead; Gunn, dead; Fred, dead; Lorne, gone; Conner, gone. At least Conner wrote. Angel had a few ideas as to where Lorne was, but he knew in his heart of hearts that he'd never follow up on them.

I'll probably just sit here in the dark until I finally rot away from lack of blood, Angel thought. Nina gave up on me, even.

He began sorting through the letters and ran across one that was stamped "Muggle Mail".

"Muggle mail?" Angel asked aloud. It wasn't that he was unfamiliar with the term. All vampires learned or encountered witches and wizards at some point. It pretty much came with the territory. It had just been a while since anyone from that part of humanity had wanted anything to do with him. All the good wizards had felt he was a threat to humanity(and they had been right at the time) and all the bad wizards had felt he was a threat to them(and they were still right).

So Angel had no trouble conceiving of the general origins of the letter. As to the specific origins, they had him a bit worried. Somehow, Angel didn't figure that the majority of the wizarding world was quite ready to pretend that the Sourge of Europe was not someone they'd all hated for a very long time. Wizards lived very long lives, and that community had a very long memory.

Still, there was no way to discover any further information without actually opening the letter. Angel did so, but after reading the first couple of lines he glanced down to see who it was from and started in surprise. He went back up to the top and began reading again, very carefully.

This letter was interesting. And after reading it a few times over, Angel began to realize that chances of this sort did not roll around very often. His reply was quite short and simple, and he took it down to the wizard's post office immediately.

It said only three words: I will come.