As the sun rose once again over Privet Drive, tiny beams of light found their way through the small cracks in Harry’s worn and dusty curtains. They crept across the cluttered floor, slowly snaking their way towards Harry’s closed eyelids.

Harry Potter; The Boy Who Lived. 

Harry stirred in the morning light and opened his eyes. He began to blink rapidly, the bright stream of light offensive to his tired eyes. He felt around for his glasses, his fingers fumbling in his tired state.

His hand closed around something long and pencil like; he pushed it out of the way and heard a clattering as it fell to the floor.

“Damn,” he muttered. 

His hand fumbled once again and closed this time around a familiar pair of spectacles - he put them on lazily and blinked a few more times. His small bedroom came into focus as he let out a yawn. 

Hedwig’s cage, perched rather precariously on top of a pile of old newspapers, stood empty – she was clearly still out hunting. Next to Hedwig’s cage stood Harry’s old wardrobe. Door slightly ajar – he had tried many times to fix it – it contained all of his school robes and textbooks.

Harry’s most prized possessions could also be seen scattered haphazardly about the cramped room. His Firebolt was standing proudly by his bedside cabinet, propped up against the wall; his invisibility cloak lay folded neatly in his trunk which was sat open under his window; and lastly an old, leather-bound photo album containing the only images Harry had of his dead parents sat safely on his bedside cabinet.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet resting lightly atop the cold, wooden floor. He wiggled his toes to get some feeling back into his legs - compared to his bed at Hogwarts, the mattress the Dursley’s had ‘given’ him (Dudley, in his ever-growing size, had broken half the springs) really wasn’t something to boast about.

He stretched, stifled another yawn and stood up, the movement making his back and knees click rather impressively. He crossed over to his curtains and pulled them open, showering the room with tiny specks of dust hanging lazily in the air. Bright, morning sunlight flooded the room, basking it in a warm, pleasant glow. 

Harry pushed his window open a little wider and stood back as Hedwig swooped in gracefully,dropping a letter on Harry’s bed before landing safely in her cage. She hooted at Harry, tucked her head under her wing and settled down for a long snooze.

Harry smiled as he watched Hedwig for a moment – he then turned back to the window and closed it, leaving a gap large enough to allow a cool breeze to circulate the already stuffy room.

As he turned his attention back to his bed, he remembered that he had knocked something off his bedside cabinet in his search to find his glasses, and sure enough, when he went to check, his wand was missing. He glanced down at the floor but it was nowhere to be seen. Grumbling slightly, he got down on all fours, eventually spotting the stick of wood lying innocently under his bed. He retrieved it along with a folded bit of parchment that appeared to be stuck between the floorboards. 

Heaving himself off the floor, he put his wand back where it should be and brushed the dust off his hands and knees. He sat down at his desk, the broken chair he had salvaged from one of Dudley’s latest tantrums wobbling slightly as he did so. Harry thought nothing of it as he began to unfold the grubby piece of parchment. He knew what was written on it, having memorised it weeks ago, but the untidy scrawl made him smile as he re-read the message.

Harry,

It’s cruel our time together was so short - soon we’ll have all the time in the world, I promise. 

From what I’ve heard about the Muggles you live with, they won’t be too thrilled when they find out you’ve got a murderer as a Godfather, so be sure to let them know that I’ll be keeping a close eye on them - should I hear that you’re unhappy, they’ll have the great pleasure of meeting me personally. 

Buckbeak’s doing fine and we’re keeping on the move. 

I will love you always.

Padfoot

Harry, still smiling to himself, got up and put the note safely in between the pages of his photo album. He could still remember the Dursley’s faces when they’d received a letter from Sirius, the man supposedly responsible for killing thirteen people. Harry hadn’t felt the need to explain to them that Sirius was innocent - it was thanks to Sirius that, for the first time in Harry’s wizarding life, they had not locked all his school possessions away the minute he stepped back through the front door.

Harry looked to his repaired alarm clock, noting it was still quite early in the morning, before glancing over at his homemade calendar. He felt his stomach do a series of backflips as he registered today’s date, circled in a big red swirl.

Harry bound over to Hedwig’s cage and poked her gently awake. She opened her big amber eyes and stared at him reproachfully.

“Today’s the day, Hedwig! This time tomorrow we’ll be at Hogwarts!” Harry said in an excited whisper, fearful of waking up the Dursleys. Hedwig gave a sleepy, celebratory hoot, and then returned to her nap.

Harry, now happier than he had been all summer, replayed the night an unexpected visitor had appeared at the front door of Number Four, Privet Drive.

…

Harry had been sat on his bedroom floor, opening his birthday presents he had received in the mail. The first had been from Hermione; she had sent him a fascinating book on defensive spells and Harry couldn’t wait to try them out (hopefully on Malfoy), along with a huge box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans – Harry had risked a jet black one that had, unluckily, turned out to be rotten fish. Ron had got him a handy little devise to clip onto his broom that told him the time, the temperature, his exact location in the world and his height in the sky. There had also been a note attached.

Harry,

Happy Birthday!

Look mate, I hope you like your present, but I wouldn’t trust it too much – it was only cheap.

We’re going to Australia to visit Charlie in a few days. He’s been sent there to deal with some hexed water dragons, apparently they’re huge! 

Don’t let the Muggles get you down.

Ron

As he was opening his last present, this time from Hagrid, he’d thought of Norbert the dragon from his very first year at Hogwarts - he couldn’t comprehend the size of a fully-grown dragon, let alone a hexed one. 

Hagrid’s gift was about the size of a small notebook, and when Harry ripped off the brown wrapping paper, he had found it to be just that. It wasn’t, however, an ordinary notebook; the pages inside were velvety soft, almost fragile, and the cover seemed to glow faintly in places. When he read the note attached, he was informed that the cover was actually made out of crushed unicorn horn, meaning it was very magical, and also incredibly expensive. Harry couldn’t wait to thank Hagrid. 

Wanting to stretch his legs, Harry had decided a trip downstairs would do the trick. He headed out onto the landing where he could hear the muffled sound of animated voices drifting up the stairs, meaning the Dursleys must be watching TV.

Deciding it was safe to go down, Harry began to descend the stairs; his mouth still tasted unpleasantly of rotten fish and he was hoping he could sneak something out of the fridge without his Aunt noticing. As he reached the last step, the doorbell rang, and Harry stood still as a statue as he heard Uncle Vernon’s low rumble.

“Expecting anyone Petunia, dear?” he asked.

“No, not at all,” came his Aunt’s simpering voice. “Is it one of your little friends, Popkin?” 

Harry heard a sound, similar to a grunt, which he took to mean “no” from Dudley.

“Nuisance-callers, bet it’s some chump asking for money for the latest charity…” Uncle Vernon’s voice trailed off gruffly. The door to the sitting room opened suddenly, and Harry felt a strange sense of guilt wash over him, though he had no idea why.

“What are you doing, lurking about? Got nothing better to do than eavesdrop on our conversations?” Uncle Vernon shot at him. 

Harry shook his head lamely; he didn’t really have a comeback.

The doorbell went again and Uncle Vernon growled, “I’m here, I’m here. Ruddy salesmen, nothing better to do than bother my family … tell them where to shove it …” Harry passed swiftly by his muttering Uncle and headed towards the kitchen. 

An all too familiar voice was soon drifting down the hall, however, causing Harry to stop dead in his tracks. He was confused; that voice didn’t belong in the Dursley’s corridor, it belonged at – 

“Hogwarts, yes. You heard me correctly Mr Dursley. Now, I was wondering if I might have a word with young Harry?”

Harry came out of his stupor and spun around, unable to suppress his grin.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was standing, framed in the Dursley’s doorway. He was smiling calmly. 

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, warmly, “could you come out here for a moment, seeing as your uncle has failed to invite me in?”

Uncle Vernon gave a stunned start, recovered from the shock of seeing a fully-grown wizard – deep purple robes and all – standing in his doorway, and backed slowly into the sitting room, closing the door as he did so.

As Harry walked past the newly shut door, he heard the tell-tale sound of a lock clicking into place. He chanced a glance at his Headmaster and was pleased to see him still smiling. 

“Harry, my boy, so good to see you,” said Dumbledore as he closed the front door behind Harry. Harry, still so amazed by the fact that Dumbledore was actually here, registered only too late that Dumbledore was talking to him. He opened his mouth hurriedly but was cut off by a quiet chuckle.

“Surprised to see me, I take it?” asked Dumbledore kindly.

“Ye-yes sir, I-I mean no sir, I-I mean …” Harry’s voice trailed off pathetically, his brain working in overdrive to try and form some words.

“Enjoying your birthday, I hope?”

Harry had quite forgotten it was his birthday, but he nodded nonetheless and replied.

“Yes, thank you sir.”

“Good, good,” nodded Dumbledore, thoughtfully. “Now Harry, I expect you’re wondering why I’m here.”

Harry looked up at him, a sense of dread snaking its way into his stomach. He nodded again, more hesitantly this time. 

“I am here to talk about your return to school.”

Harry felt his stomach drop.

“I am going back, aren’t I?” Harry asked, slightly panicked, his words spilling out quickly now. “Hogwarts hasn’t closed down, has it? Wait! Has Snape finally got me expelled? But sir, that’s not fair! He can’t just -”

“Harry!” Dumbledore interrupted Harry’s frantic ramblings with a chuckle. “Harry my boy, don’t worry! Hogwarts has not closed down and Professor Snape –” Dumbledore looked pointedly at Harry and Harry merely shuffled his feet uncomfortably, “– Professor Snape has not had you expelled.”

“Yet,” mumbled Harry, avoiding Dumbledore’s twinkling blue eyes. 

He heard Dumbledore chuckle again before he continued.

“I have decided that, since Lord Voldemort may once again be on the rise to power, it would be unsafe for you to return to school by the usual means. Therefore, you shall be returning to Hogwarts with myself, a week before term begins.” He looked at Harry simply. “I hope that is satisfactory?” Dumbledore’s eyes continued to twinkle from behind his half-moon spectacles.

“Sir, that’s … that’s …” Harry, stunned into silence, was lost for words once again. 

“Good news?” prompted Dumbledore.

“Brilliant news,” answered Harry, grinning. A whole extra week at Hogwarts - that meant a whole extra week away from the Dursleys! Harry could have jumped for joy, but he resisted, not wanting to embarrass himself any further. 

“Excellent,” affirmed Dumbledore, clapping his hands together. “I shall see you on the eve of the twenty fifth – I look forward to it!” 

He patted Harry fatherly on the shoulder and turned to leave. Halfway down the drive, however, he let out a loud “oh!” that made Harry jump.

“Harry, I almost forgot. I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about these plans, otherwise it defeats the whole object, you see?” Harry nodded, his thoughts drifting briefly to his friends.

“Sir, would I be able to –”

“I shall inform Mr Weasley and Miss Granger to expect your absence on the Hogwarts Express,” Dumbledore interrupted, his mouth turning up into a kind smile. 

“Thanks,” Harry grinned back, sad that he’d have to wait to see his friends, but still basking in the glory of a whole extra week away from the Dursleys. 

Dumbledore turned abruptly and disappeared down the deserted street, his robes billowing out behind him. He waved a final goodbye to Harry before disappearing with a loud ‘crack’. 

Harry jumped at the noise, turning hurriedly back to the front door in case any of the nosy neighbours decided to investigate the noise. 

He was greeted by a large, moustached face with small, piggy eyes peering through a crack in the sitting room door.

“Well? Has he gone?” hissed his Uncle. 

“Yep, he’s gone,” said Harry happily, “but he’ll be back on the twenty fifth!” 

Harry enjoyed the stunned look on his Uncle’s face as he headed back upstairs, happier than he’d been in a long time.

…

Harry, now done reminiscing, glanced around the room and noticed something lying on his bed. It was the letter Hedwig had dropped.

He picked up the envelope and flipped it over, frowning slightly as he searched for a name; there was nothing, not even an address. 

“Where’d you get this, Hedwig?” he asked the sleeping bird, his eyebrows drawing together as he ripped the envelope open. 

A blank square of parchment fell out and Harry picked it up inquisitively, dropping it almost instantly as words began to scrawl themselves across the page. They vanished as quickly as they had appeared, and Harry picked up the parchment once again, more hesitantly this time. Words began to appear once more, and Harry leaned closer to read them.

Mr Potter,

Assuming you possess the skill and attention span needed to reveal this note, I wish to inform you that the Headmaster is no longer able to collect you. That duty now lies with me.

I will be arriving at five o’clock this evening. I do not like to be kept waiting. If you are not ready I will not hesitate to leave you behind. 

Do not be late.

Professor S. Snape

Harry’s stomach dropped and his good mood vanished – he felt as though he had just been plunged head-first into a pool of icy water, by none other than Severus Snape.