Lumos Obscurum

Chapter 1 - The Arrival

To say that he was inside a large house would be a gross understatement.

He seemed to be in some kind foyer or entrance hall, and even though the edges of everything seemed oddly blurred, he was still able to make out the structure of... wherever he was.

A tall, domed ceiling towered high above him. Long, protruding extensions of gold (that he was sure was pure) ran up the walls and met at the very centre of the dome. It was rather like being inside of a church, he thought vaguely. Except for the fact that it was engraved with etchings of wizards performing various acts of magic on lesser beings, including house-elves, goblins, and the occasional woman.

In front of him lay a winding grand staircase that was made out of marble, with large, sweeping railings that lined either side. These too were also engraved with many carvings. He followed the stairs leading up towards the second floor with his eyes. It grew dark at the top where it disappeared out of sight.

To the left were two magnificent doors open under an archway. Through the entrance, he spied a large, luxurious dining room. To the right was a large bay window that somehow didnÂ’t let even a smidgeon of sunlight into the dim room.

No, Harry was certainly not in any ordinary home.

He wasnÂ’t even sure if the words “gigantic mansion” would adequately describe this place.

He pulled away from his musings and steadied himself. He was here for a purpose. He was looking for something. He had to get it.

He slowly became aware of a woman, around middle age, kneeling directly in front of Harry, completely hunched over so that her nose nearly touched the cool stone floor. Immediately upon noticing her, he felt an intense surge of hatred run through him.

Her glossy silver hair cascaded down her arched back. Something about her was familiar, yet from this angle it was impossible to see any facial features.

But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was that she had just made him very, very angry.

“Well? What have you got to say for yourself?” Harry boomed, in a voice that was quite unlike his own.

“I o-only wish to have what is best for my son. P-please, he is my only child. I w-would not be able to bear seeing him enslaved like that…” The kneeling woman stuttered, bowing her head even further.

Annoyance stirred deep within Harry. How dare her. This woman was wasting his valuable time. He must find what he was searching for.

“Enslaved, you say? Others, countless others, would give their lives to be able to perform this service for me. And here you are, calling it enslavement?”

“I love him very much. After what happened to my husband, I can’t stand for him to be taken away from me as well.”

“Your husband was a fool!” Harry shouted angrily, his voice shaking the very infrastructure of the mansion. “If he was stupid enough to let himself get caught, then he deserves to suffer where he is now.”

The woman gave a cry. “P-please, my lord, please-”

“And you have the audacity to sit here and call me your lord? You are even stupider than he was!”

A burning hatred seethed inside Harry. He reached inside his dark black cloak and grasped a long piece of wood sheathed inside. He pulled it out took hold of it with his thin, white hand.

“You and your entire family has failed me for the last time,” he said menacingly as he stepped forward.

The woman was crying in earnest now.

“Please, please don’t… I’m sorry! I’m sorry-”

“I am sick of hearing your constant whining. I am sick of you. To be quite frank, I think this will one of the most enjoyable murders I've ever had the pleasure of committing."

“NO!” she shrieked, standing up at last. But Harry was too caught up in his rage to take a proper look at the woman's now begging for her life.

“I will have what I what I've come for. Neither you nor anybody else in this god-forsaken world is going to stop me,” Harry finished and raised his wand.

She backed away, crying, "No! No, please no! Do with me what you must, but don't take him! You mustn't take him away!"

"Silly girl! You know nothing! What you are harbouring could very well be the most extraordinary gift I have ever had the fortune come across. And you are brainless enough to think that you could possibly stand in my way? Ha! It would have done you well to learn this lesson before today, but alas, it is too late. For you see, what Lord Voldemort wants, Lord Voldemort gets."

She was whimpering now, begging, "Please... please..."

"Enough!" Harry advanced forward, held his wand high and bellowed, "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

A jet of green light erupted from the end of his wand and hit her square in the chest. With one last shuddering gasp of breath, she keeled over onto the floor.

Harry moved forward and surveyed her limp body with a high degree of satisfaction.

A choked cry issued from above Harry, making his ears perk up. He turned toward the soft sound, which was actually quite loud in the otherwise silent hall. He spied a boy sitting on the second floor near the top of the staircase, his face peering down at the woman's body through a gap in the bars of the banister.

A wide, delighted grin spread across Harry's face. He had found it at last.

"There you are, boy," he said quietly, starting to ascend the stairs. The blond boy tore his eyes away from the body to stare tearfully at the cloaked figure nearing him. "Yes, your pitiful mother is dead... oh my," he said in surprise. "You were watching the whole time weren't you? Yes, it was quite a show, wasn't it. Moreover, you have now witnessed first hand what happens when you cross Lord Voldemort."

Harry reached the top of the staircase. He stared the boy in the eye and said, "Now, let's hope you won't be as foolish."

The young man let out a whimper.

Harry laughed cruelly. "You're afraid, aren't you? Yes, I can feel it. You fear for your life. Well don't worry, boy, I have no interest in killing you. Quite the contrary, I have a feeling that you will be extremely useful to me in the future."

Harry reached out, preparing to grab the boy, when-

BAM!

A blast of white light hit him and he toppled backwards.

There was a shout, a murmur of voices, a bright light shining in his face, hurting his eyes, and-

Harry Potter woke up with a with a start, panting, covered in sweat, and tangled in his bed sheets.

He was in his own bedroom at Number Four, Privet Drive, not in the large mansion.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm his frantic heart. It was only a dream, he told himself. Calm down, you were only dreaming again.

His scar was throbbing, and he could still feel the remnants of intense anger pulsing through him.

Harry reached over, grabbed the glass of water he always kept at his bedside and downed the whole thing in one gulp. Just a dream... he thought once more, before untangling himself and laying back down on the pillow. He lay still for a moment, feeling his heart rate return to normal.

It was Voldemort, he reasoned. It must've been. It was the only solution. Why else would he have dream that was so vivid? Why else would his scar be hurting?

...Only it wasn't hurting right now. The pain had gone away. Perhaps he had only imagined it?

But maybe it actually happened. Voldemort might've... he yawned... killed that person, whoever it was. I should... his eyes closed of their own will and he settled back into his mattress... tell someone....

Oh well... she's already dead. Doesn't really matter now, does it? There's nothing we can do.

Before he knew it, he had drifted off again.

***

When Harry Potter woke once again, in the morning, he didn't remember a thing about the previous night's dream. It was a plain, ordinary morning that started out the same as every other. He yawned, climbed out of bed, stretched, found some clean clothes that were much too large for him, and headed off to the shower. He showered quickly, only taking a few minutes. He didn’t bother trying to get himself too clean, as he knew he would only get dirty again later that days. He stepped out onto the cold linoleum floor, wrapped a towel around his waist and turned towards the mirror hanging above the sink. He attempted to smooth down his unruly hair, but gave up after only a few seconds. Harry put on his black, round glasses and dressed himself in shorts that came down over his knees, and a t-shirt with sleeves that reached past his elbows.

He went back to his room, dropped his pyjamas down on his bed, went out into the hall and headed down the stairway. He entered the kitchen where his fat cousin Dudley was sitting at one end of the table, shovelling food into his mouth. Uncle Vernon, who was on a two week holiday from work, occupied the other end, reading the morning paper. Aunt Petunia was at the stove flipping pancakes and talking to her husband about such matters as the expensive restaurant the neighbours went to eat at last night for dinner, and how she spotted a cat poking her nose into their garbage cans that morning. Uncle Vernon really wasn’t paying attention, he was just nodding and saying “Mm-hum,” every couple of minutes. Aunt Petunia was aware of this, but droned on regardless.

Nobody acknowledged Harry’s entrance, but Harry was used to that. He seated himself in between Uncle Vernon and Dudley and helped himself to some pancakes. A radio was on over on the marble counter. A popular country song was playing quietly, providing the background music to Aunt Petunia’s excited chatter.

“Then I went out with the broom to shoo the cat away, when all of a sudden the filthy thing just seemed to disappear into nowhere. It was one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen.”

Uncle Vernon might’ve been thankful later on if he had been paying attention to this particular part of Aunt Petunia’s story. But he was too deeply immersed in reading about the attempted robbery of a local jewellery store.

At this point, Aunt Petunia walked over and dumped more pancakes onto the platter in the centre of the table.

“Eat up, Duddikins,” she cooed to her son.

Dudley nodded and obediently placed five more pancakes onto his plate.

“Brush your hair for once,” she snapped at Harry.

“Yes ma’am,” he said automatically, and continued eating.

Yep, just another ordinary morning.

Uncle Vernon peered over the top of his paper when he heard Harry’s voice. “Hurry up and eat, boy. There are a lot of weeds out there,” he told him.

Harry nodded, took one last bite, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and stood up, leaving his unfinished breakfast. “Yes, Uncle Vernon,” he said and then quietly left the kitchen, going out into the backyard. He didn’t care that his stomach was not yet satisfied, he just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.

He made his way to Aunt Petunia’s garden. It was Monday, and Monday always brought with it spending the majority of the day outside pulling weeds, which was perfectly fine with him. Spending the day out there meant that he didn’t have to spend it in the house with the Dursley’s.

He knelt down at a patch and began to pull the weeds.

Hours passed. Harry pulled weed after weed. The garden had to be absolutely devoid of any type of weed for Aunt Petunia’s inspection at the end of the day, or else he would be punished. The sweltering sun of early August started to beat down on him and he began to dream of the ice cold lemonade that could be easily found inside the refrigerator in the air conditioned house. He scowled and irritably yanked a dandelion out of the ground, roots and all.

After another hour passed, Dudley waddled out of the house, on his way over to a friend's house for a smoke, no doubt. Of course, the Dursleys probably thought he was simply out for ice cream. When he was out of sight, Harry debated sneaking a look into the kitchen window to see if anyone was in there so that he could possibly get himself a drink. But before he could make a decision, a shadow fell over him.

Harry looked up. An elderly woman had appeared, and was standing next to him, holding a walking cane, wearing small glasses that sat on the end of her nose, with long white hair flowing down her back. She was hunched over, wearing in a fraying dress with a floral print and had a tattered pink shawl thrown over her shoulders. She was wearing stockings that bunched at her ankles, and black high-heeled shoes that had started sinking into the patch of mud she was standing in.

“Excuse me, young man,” she said in a feeble, wavering voice. “I was wondering if your parents are around.”

Harry swallowed and stood up, wiping off his hands on his trousers. “Um, no, ma’am, they’re not. This is my aunt’s and uncle’s house, the Dursleys. They’re home if you need to see them.”

The old woman nodded. “If you don't mind,” she said.

“The front door is this way,” Harry said, leading her up the walkway to the front porch. He opened the door.

“Uncle Vernon!” he called.

“What is it, boy?” He shouted back at Harry. The floor trembled slightly as the big man approached. “You couldn’t possibly be done with the weeding already – oh, hello madam,” he said, the volume of his voice dropping drastically as he spotted the guest. “What can I do for you?”

The old woman smiled and a gold tooth shone brightly in her mouth. “You must be Mr. Dursley.” She held out a limp hand. “My name is Rose McGallahan. I live down the street, but I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced.”

Uncle Vernon took her tiny hand in his own pudgy one and shook it briefly.

“I was wondering if you might assist me in a little problem I have,” she continued.

“Oh, of course, come in, come in,” said Uncle Vernon, always eager to make a good name for himself. “Petunia! Come into the living room, we have a guest!”

Uncle Vernon showed Ms. McGallahan the way to the living room, then turned on Harry. “Get back outside, Potter, and finish your weeding!”

Harry nodded and went back into the yard. He shut the door, but then ran around the side of the house and peered into the living room through a side window with both hands situated firmly on the windowsill. His aunt and uncle were now making their guest comfortable in Vernon’s favourite armchair.

The window was open a small crack, and Harry could dimly hear what was going on inside. The woman started to talk, but Harry could barely hear. All he was able to make out were words such as, “I have… boy… house… stay… please…”

Harry watched as Uncle Vernon started to shake his head, but then paused as the woman pulled a chequebook out of her pocket. Ms. McGallahan started talking again, writing something as she spoke. He saw Uncle Vernon’s eyes widen considerably, and Aunt Petunia put a hand over her open mouth.

Uncle Vernon jumped up, taking the cheque from the woman’s hand. He stared at the slip of paper for a moment disbelievingly, then started to talk, nodding his head up and down furiously. Aunt Petunia came to stand by his side, and nodded, seeming to agree with what Uncle Vernon was saying.

Ms. McGallahan now had a big smile and a tremendous look of relief on her weathered face. Then, Harry jumped as he heard his own name come from Uncle Vernon’s mouth. “Potter!! Get in here!”

Harry let go of the window, went quickly into the house, happy at least to get out of the heat, and entered the living room. He had a blank look on his face, pretending that he didn’t just overhear their conversation. “Yes, Uncle Vernon?”

“We are going to help out this our lovely neighbour here,” Uncle Vernon started to explain, putting the check in his pants pocket and holding a hand over it protectively. “Her brother died (I’m very sorry about that by the way, very sorry), and she must leave for Paris, where he lived, at once. The problem is that her grandson was staying the summer with her, and she cannot afford to take him along to France as well. She has kindly asked if he could possibly spend the remainder of the summer here, with us, and we have agreed, out of the goodness of our hearts.”

Harry nodded through this, all the time thinking how it pertained to him.

At this point, Ms. McGallahan said to him, “you’re probably wondering what this has to do with you.” Harry stared at her incredulously, but she continued without noticing. “You see, the reason I asked Mr. and Mrs. Dursley here to take care of my grandson is that when I saw you in the garden, you struck me as such as nice boy, and you are around the age of my grandson. I was hoping you might befriend him, and make this feel like home.”

Uncle Vernon was nodding, “Yes, you can do this Harry, can’t you?” he questioned, but his tone implied that it was not a question at all, but a threat.

Harry forced a smile on his face. “Oh, of course. I’d be happy to.”

Ms. McGallahan clapped her hands together loudly, making everyone jump. “Oh, excellent! This is better than I had hoped. I have to be going right away, but my grandson is waiting in the car with his possessions. It is okay if he moves into today, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes,” Uncle Vernon nodded eagerly. “We’re happy to have him.”

“What is his name, by the way? You never said,” Aunt Petunia said.

“His name?” The old lady’s grin seemed to falter for just a moment. “Oh, um… David. Yes, that‘s his name, David.”

“David… I’ve always liked that name,” Aunt Petunia said pleasantly.

Ms. McGallahan nodded happily. “Me too, dear, me too. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go fetch him.”

She walked slowly out the front door with the aid of her walking stick to a car parked in the street.

Aunt Petunia now had a disgusted expression on her face. “David. Such a common name. Ugly too."

Uncle Vernon nodded vehemently.

“Just like ‘Harry’,” Aunt Petunia continued.

Harry pretended not to pay attention to their conversation. He sat down heavily on the couch, and closed his eyes, happy for the gardening break.

Ms. McGallahan returned with her grandson in tow. “Here he is,” she announced. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, this is my grandson, David.”

David stepped out from behind the woman.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, David,” Aunt Petunia gushed.

“Yes, David, a pleasure,” Uncle Vernon said deeply.

Harry looked up at David and felt his jaw literally drop open.

David was Draco Malfoy.

He was Draco Malfoy, wearing a very morose expression… and dressed in Muggle clothing.

Draco saw Harry watching him, and he stared back at him impassively.

Ms. McGallahan moved forward then to introduce him. “And this is Harry, David. He said that he would do anything to make you feel at home.”

For a brief instant, a smirk reminiscent of the old Draco Malfoy crossed the boy’s face.

Okay, Harry reassured himself, I’m not in an alternate world. This is still Draco Malfoy. And he is at the Dursleys. Why?

“It’s such a delight to meet you, Harry,” Draco said, with a trace of his old sarcasm buried under a voice bursting with politeness. Harry’s first name sounded weird coming from his mouth.

“Um…” Harry started to say something about the situation, but then Ms. McGallahan gave him a strict look and he quieted himself. It was odd seeing such a look on a nice old lady. Although there was something about that expression that was familiar to Harry.

What the hell is going on?

Ms. McGallahan, possibly sensing his distress, said quickly, “Perhaps young Harry here would like to show David his room. Then we can work out the minor details while they’re gone.”

Uncle Vernon nodded. “Alright, you heard the lady, Potter. Take David’s stuff up to his room.”

“But… where is he-” Harry ventured.

“In your room, of course,” Uncle Vernon gave him a nasty look.

“Of course,” Harry repeated.

Harry moved forward and took Draco’s two suitcases. “Follow me,” he said to Draco, and carried the suitcases up the stairs.

The two boys went into Harry’s room, Harry unceremoniously setting the suitcases down on the floor with a loud thump, and firmly shutting the door. He turned to Draco. “All right,” he said finally. “Want to tell me what is going on here?”

“Not particularly,” Draco said as ran a finger along the top of Harry's dresser, held it up to his face, and visibly cringed as he saw the dust there.

Harry crossed his arms. “Well someone has to. You have made my life miserable for the past five years. I’m not going to tolerate you living in the same house with me, let alone the same room, without an explanation at the very least.”

Draco rubbed the dust on his finger off on a jumper of Harry’s and looked up with a wide smile on his face. “Why, Potter, you’ve grown yourself a spine. I’m impressed.”

Harry scowled. "Words cannot express how much it means for me to have your approval,” he said sarcastically.

“If you want an explanation, go see McGonagall downstairs," Draco said, ignoring Harry's remark. "I don’t feel much like talking much now,” he continued, flopping lazily onto Harry’s bed.

Harry started. “McGonagall?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, you brainless git, that’s McGonagall down there.”

“But what… what is she doing here?” Harry was very confused. “Why disguise herself? And why did she tell my aunt and uncle that your name is David?”

"Well Draco's not a very common name, I expect. It'd make the Muggles suspicious, wouldn't it?" Draco answered as though it was obvious, his eyes closing.

"But why has she brought you here in the first place?"

Draco didn’t answer to that, and it looked to Harry like he had fallen asleep. On his bed.

Harry muttered irritably to himself and pulled open the door to go downstairs. He took one look back at the boy lying on the bed and swore he saw a smirk. Harry sighed, shut the door, and made his way down the stairs.

There, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were on the sofa, talking to each other. The old woman was nowhere in sight.

“Where’s Ms. McGallahan?” he asked them.

Uncle Vernon looked up. “She left a couple minutes ago. And what are you still doing in here? Just because you are now in charge of a guest doesn’t mean you can neglect your chores. Go finish the weeding.”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

Harry went outside, closing the front door behind him. He turned to go around the side of the house where the garden was, and suppressed a startled exclamation. Ms. McGallahan was waiting for him next to the garden.

He nervously approached. “Professor…” he started.

“Ah,” she said in her normal voice. “So you’ve finally figured out it’s me?”

“Er… yes. Um…”

McGonagall silenced him and proceeded to speak a complex incantation. Instantly, her long white hair turn her normal colour and weaved itself into her usual tight bun. The clothes changed size and colour and elongated into her bluish green robes. Lastly, her walking cane compressed itself and turned into a foot long stick of wood – her wand.

She checked herself over. “That’s better,” she said, satisfied. “Now, Mr. Potter, you had a question?”

“Erm… yes…” Harry said. He had a whole bunch, obviously, but decided to go with the biggest one. “Why is Draco Malfoy here?”

She frowned. “He didn’t tell you?”

He shook his head.

She heaved a deep breath that sounded very sad. “Well, he’ll tell you eventually, when he’s ready.”

“Excuse me, Professor,” he said, “He said to ask you.”

“I see. Well, I’m not really the one to tell you. Like I said he’ll tell you when he’s ready.”

“But why here of all places?” he pressed her.

“Mr. Potter, please,” she frowned at him. “That’s the third time you’ve asked the same question. The answer has been the same the first two times, and it will continue to be the same. Now, if that’s all you've got to say, I really must be off. I have important business elsewhere to take care of," she finished. She gave him a significant look and Harry immediately knew she was speaking of Order matters.

“Er, yes, Professor, sorry to delay you,” he said hastily, but then couldn't resist asking one more thing: "But how are things... with... with you know..." he said, looking around for anyone who might possibly be in a position to overhear.

McGonagall heaved a sigh. "As well as can be expected, Mr. Potter. But don't you concern yourself such things yet. You have a much bigger responsibility on your shoulders now," she said, and straightened her robes. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must be off."

"Er, right," Harry said slowly. A bigger responsibility?

Then, McGonagall did something very surprising: she smiled at Harry and said, "Have a nice summer, Mr. Potter.”

She turned and walked away.

Harry stared at her retreating back.

A nice summer indeed. What could be more fun than spending summer vacation not only with the Dursley's, but also with the incomparable Draco Malfoy? He thought angrily.

With an annoyed sigh, he turned to the unfinished task of weeding the garden. Falling to his knees, he again began to irritably yank the weeds from the ground.

***

The sun was just beginning to set when Harry had finally finished the yard work for the day. The sky had turned the brilliant colours of orange and yellow, and overhead he could just see the stars beginning to reveal themselves.

Brushing the dirt off his hands (Aunt Petunia would kill him if he let even one grain of dirt in the house), Harry stepped inside the brightly lit house and slammed the door behind him.

"Potter!" Aunt Petunia hollered from the kitchen. "That weeding had better be done!"

"It is, Aunt Petunia!" he called back.

"Then go up and tell the guest the dinner is ready. And expect a full inspection of the lawn after we eat!"

"Right, right," Harry said, ascending the stairs. "Miserable old bat," he muttered under his breath

He reached the top of the stairs, opened his bedroom door, and was startled at the sight that met him.

Draco Malfoy was lazing about on top of his bed, looking through his parent's old photo album.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Harry said, annoyed.

"I was bored," Draco drawled. "Don't you have any entertainment around this place? No Gobstones set or anything?"

"Don't be daft, this is a Muggle house," Harry said. "Put down that album."

"No need to get your knickers in a twist, Potter. I was simply looking." He flipped to the picture of Harry's parents on their wedding day. "You know, this bloke right here looks a lot like that Siri-"

"Shut up!" Harry snarled, the mention of his godfather bringing back unpleasant memories and he unconsciously channelled those feelings to fuel his anger. He moved forward and snatched the photo album out of the blond boy's hands.

Draco stood up abruptly. "Watch yourself, Potter."

Harry threw the book into an open desk drawer, slammed the drawer shut, and turned to face the other boy, his fists clenched at his sides.

"There is no need for me to 'watch myself' in my own house, you idiot. Need I remind you that you are the sodding guest?"

"I think that there is a great need for you to watch yourself, Potter," Draco spat, crossing the room in a large, heavy step so that he was standing directly in front of Harry. "And since that we're on the topic of necessities... need I remind you of how somebody decided to put my father in jail a month ago?"

"Said somebody thinks that your poor excuse for a father got exactly what was coming to him," Harry said through clenched teeth.

Draco moved so that he was practically nose to nose with the other boy. "You'll pay for that, Potter. You'll pay for all of this."

"I'm scared," Harry said indifferently. "No really, I am."

Draco reached into his pants pocket.

Harry tensed.

And Uncle Vernon's massive hulk suddenly showed up in the doorframe.

Draco quickly withdrew his still empty hand and stepped backwards.

"Potter," Uncle Vernon said in a deceptively polite voice. "A word."

Harry joined his uncle in the hallway; Draco followed.

Uncle Vernon looked towards Draco. "David," he said. "Go downstairs for dinner."

"Yes sir," Draco said with a polite air similar to that which Uncle Vernon was using, and went downstairs to the kitchen.

As soon as Draco was out of sight, Uncle Vernon rounded on Harry. "What... what in God's name do you think you were doing!" he sputtered angrily, hardly able to form the words. "We could here your shouting and bumping all the way in the kitchen, I wouldn't be surprised if even the neighbours heard your codswallop."

"It was Dra - it was David's fault," Harry said, gritting his teeth together.

"He... is... our... GUEST!" Uncle Vernon roared. "We are getting paid good money to watch over him, and I sure as hell am not going to let you spoil everything! If he tells his grandmother about the way he's been treated here, we will not even get a single pound of the money she's promised us. And if that happens, boy, you will be in more trouble that you can possibly dream of!"

Thoughts of insults, curses, spells, or even the prospect of telling his uncle that his beloved guest was one of those odd folks he hated so much instantly surfaced in Harry's mind, each begging to be released as Uncle Vernon finished his speech. But Harry, realising that would probably be pushing things a bit too far, simply settled for, "Yes sir."

"Good," Uncle Vernon said, puffing out his gut in a posture that he probably thought was intimidating. "You will make sure that an incident like this never happens again."

"Yes sir."

Uncle Vernon straightened his belt, nodded, and headed down the stairs with Harry on his tail.

They entered the kitchen. Harry looked at the kitchen table and saw Draco sharing the side of the table that Dudley usually claimed as his own. Dudley (whom had returned over an hour ago, smelling of smoke, and was filled on the current housing situation) was looking very disgruntled to be forced to share his territory with an intruder. Draco was crammed into the smallest space that Dudley's overbearing hulk allowed, looking uncomfortable, and occasionally glancing apprehensively at the colossal eating machine next to him.

Harry sat down and helped himself to some roast, letting a smile of satisfaction spread across his face.