Harry Potter and the Last Heir

Chapter One: Knickers on the bed lamp

It was a dull day, the sun blazing down onto the withering lawns of Privet Drive. The houses lay quiet in the scorching heat and there wasn't much sign of life. Except for a tall boy with glasses who was labouring away in the garden, sweat dripping from his face.

Ever since Harry Potter's return to the Dursleys he had been doing a lot of gardening, without Uncle Vernon having to yell at him to do so. He found it much harder to think about Sirius' death when he returned to his bed in the evenings, his body tired and his mind dim. Usually he would just sink into a deep sleep and awaken the next morning, eat and return to the garden.

Dudley thought he had gone even crazier, but Harry didn't care. He didn't care about anything anymore. Not even that his friends hadn't written to him in a month, or that Voldemort might appear out of thin air and kill him or that his OWLs had been good and that he would be able to become an Auror.

Next to what he had caused-the death of the only parental figure he'd ever had-nothing worried him anymore. So let Voldemort kill a hoard of muggles-who cares? So what if his friends abandoned him?

At this thought he pulled out a weed rather violently, spraying himself in dirt. Cursing he pulled off his glasses, cleaned them on the dry parts of his shirt and put them back on. The world came into sharper focus again and, standing in front of him was Dumbledore.

Harry blinked a few times, just to make sure he wasn't imagining this (Uncle Vernon had hinted that too much sunlight can knock you off your rocker) but when the old man smiled Harry realized that he was indeed real. His eyes sparkled behind his half-moon glasses. He hadn't bothered to put on Muggle clothing but stood there in robes of magnificent royals blue, staring at Harry.

'Professor Dumbledore?'

'Indeed,' replied Dumbledore.

Harry got to his feet and he noticed Dumbledore's eyes flicker across him. True, he had grown a lot in the last couple of weeks and he had noticed (with a pang of excitement) that his shoulders were much broader and that he wasn't as thin anymore.

'I'm sorry to interrupt your obvious weed abuse,' Dumbledore said, his smile widening, 'but I've come to fetch you. I think I'm correct in stating that you're love for the Dursleys has been replenished for another year.'

Harry wondered why he didn't feel more excited. Sirius, said the little voice in his head, you're going back to Grimmauld Place. Sirius lived there.

Of course. How could he have forgotten?

'Oh.' He couldn't hide the regret that was there.

Dumbledore said nothing but merely studied him from behind his spectacles. He was frowning slightly.

'I-I'll go pack, then,' said Harry quickly, wanting to stop Dumbledore from saying anything.

'If you'd rather stay, Harry...'

'No! I-I was just-' But he couldn't find the words to describe what he was.

'I personally wanted to leave you here,' Dumbledore said quietly, 'but I'm afraid that I couldn't stand any more of Miss Granger's glares. I think I'm quite correct when I say that not even Professor Snape can give glances such as she does.' His eyes sparkled.

'Oh.' Harry knew the full extent of those glances, having received a lot of them over the years of his friendship with Hermione. He'd never compared them to Snape's, which were murderous, but now that he thought about it Dumbledore did have a point.

'I daresay we'd better go inside, Harry, I'm attracting quite a lot of attention, something that I'm sure will make your uncle most furious.'

This was true; passing people were doubling back to stare at Dumbledore, who waved jovially to a girl and her younger brother. They hurried away in obvious panic.

'Oh, yeah...'

Dumbledore and he walked to the front door and entered the cool hall. Harry led him up the stairs and into his room and wished that he'd done more to clean it up. His things were all over his room; to his embarrassment he saw a pair of his knickers on his bed lamp. 'I-' he began, but Dumbledore gave a chuckle.

'My room looked a lot like this. Come to think of it, it still does,' he said, smiling down at Harry.

Harry found it hard to believe but said nothing.

Dumbledore took out his wand and flicked it, and Harry's things began packing themselves neatly into his trunk. Finally his trunk snapped shut and the only things remaining where clean jeans, a T-shirt and Hedwig's cage.

'I'll leave you to change,' he said and left the room. Harry changed his clothes quickly and threw his sweaty ones aside before opening the door.

'How are we going to get to Grimmauld Place, sir?' Harry asked as Dumbledore led him down the staircase, his trunk floating in front of him. He was carrying Hedwig.

'We're not going to Grimmauld Place,' he said. 'We've found...better accommodations.'

'But why? I mean-'

'Kreacher knows of our location and, bound to serve one family his entire life, he will no doubt go to Mrs. Malfoy.'

'Oh.' This time Harry couldn't hide the relief that washed over him. He wouldn't have to be reminded of Sirius.

They reached the hall again and Aunt Petunia's head stuck out of the kitchen. She saw Dumbledore and dropped something that shattered on the floor.

'Mrs. Durlsey,' said Dumbledore happily, giving a little bow. 'I am Albus Dumbledore. I've come to fetch Harry, if you don't have any objections, of course...'

She looked dumbstruck. Then she swallowed and managed to squeal out a no.

'Good. Then we shall be off. Please do enjoy the rest of your summer.'

But instead of steering him outside Dumbledore led him to the living room. He said nothing but took out a galleon and held it out to Harry. 'We'll be using a port key,' he informed Harry.

'Oh.'

Suddenly there was that famous jerk and the blur of colours when suddenly they hit the ground. Harry stumbled and fell; Dumbledore, however, remained standing and Harry straightened to see where they where. They weren't on the same continent. They were outside a house-an old, beat down house. The unkempt yard stretched for miles. It seemed they were on a farm.

'Where are we, Professor?' Harry asked. Dumbledore was watching him closely and he smiled, but it wasn't like a true, Dumbledore smile. It was more like a grimace.

'Exactly where I want you to be, Harry,' he said, his voice cold. Harry wondered what was going on.

'Professor-?'

But beyond Dumbledore Harry could see a woman approaching from the house. It was Bellatrix Lestrange.

Dumbledore gave a laugh-a cold, mirthless laugh-and Harry knew it wasn't Dumbledore. Despite the different voice there was only one person Harry knew who could laugh like that-Voldemort.

Suddenly Dumbledore began to change and, a moment later Voldemort was standing there. The familiar white face, red gleaming eyes, and those long, thin fingers. He was twirling his wand around in his hands. Harry did not have his.

Bellatrix joined Voldemort's side.

Harry couldn't move. He was looking at the two people he hated the most. The one killed his parents, the other his godfather. And he didn't even have his wand.

'I've been waiting for so long and each time you're snatched out from under my nose,' Voldemort said. Hs voice was cold and he started to circle Harry who realized there was no way of escape. He could run but he refused; he wouldn't give Voldemort the pleasure.

'Four times, Harry Potter...four times-'

'And you haven't given up yet?' came a drawling voice. Both Voldemort and Bellatrix swung around. A girl Harry had never seen before was strolling towards them, her hands in her pockets. She had a sheet of white blonde hair that was tied up behind her head. Her eyes were icy blue and she looked utterly relaxed.

'That's kind of pathetic, you know. And here I was expecting some really, mayor evil dude. And I thought I couldn't suffer any more disappointment.' She was smiling.

'How dare you-' Voldemort began but she cut across him.

'Yada yada yada! You're really boring, you know that, don't you?'

His face contorted in anger and he lifted his wand. Bellatrix was staring at the girl and Harry ducked silently to his trunk. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at Bellatrix. A kind of anger was pumping through him and he wasn't thinking of returning to safety. No, he was thinking about something much, much better-revenge.

And before he could stop it the words tumbled through his mouth. 'Avada kedavra,' he hissed, all the anger of the past year, all the anger of Sirius' death bubbling out through his wand. There was a rushing sound and a blinding green light.

Voldemort spun around as the woman behind him fell to the ground. He looked utterly surprised.

Harry turned his wand on Voldemort, but Voldemort was already muttering. Something big and black burst out from behind him and fell over Voldemort. His wand dropped to the ground as he began screaming, clutching his head.

A hand gripped his arm and he turned to see the real Dumbledore. He was pale and looked tired and old but his grip was strong and he pushed something into Harry's hand. Before Harry could register what it was he felt that familiar jerk in the area of his navel and he felt his feet lift from the ground.

Then he as being transported somewhere else. The last thing he saw was Voldemort straightening up, clutching his wand, gasping for breath, and turning around to face the girl. And it was the best sight Harry had ever seen.