Beyond Horizons

Harry Potter was used to being treated badly by his relatives, the Dursleys, and his life with them was far from pleasant. After an incident at the zoo involving a Brazilian boa constrictor, Harry received his longest punishment ever, spending much of the time locked in his cupboard. When he was finally let out, summer had started, and Dudley had already broken his new gadgets and caused some trouble in the neighborhood.

Lily evens' eyes widened in disbelief as she watched the scene of her son.

"He's just a child... how could they treat him like this?" she whispered, her voice breaking. Her hands were shaking, and she turned to James, seeking comfort. "James, we... we cannot let this happen."

He caught sight of Lily, her face pale and tear-streaked, and pulled her into his arms, though his body was still trembling with rage. "We'll make it right, Lily," he said fiercely, though his voice cracked. "Somehow, we'll make it right."

Andromeda turned toward Ted Tonks, her fists clenched at her sides. "We should have taken him in! Any of us! How could they think it was okay to leave him with these monsters?"

Harry dreaded summer, as it meant dealing with Dudley's gang, who enjoyed tormenting him, especially with their favorite game, "Harry Hunting."

Sirius couldn't hold back any longer. "I'll kill them," he growled. "I swear to Merlin, if I ever see those Dursleys... They'll pay for this. "

"Hunting him? Hunting  like he's some kind of sport?" Dorea's voice was incredulous, "What kind of kids are they raising?"

This was why Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays. Harry found some hope in the fact that when the new school year began, he wouldn't be attending the same school as Dudley. Dudley was heading to Smeltings, a private school, while Harry would attend Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley found this hilarious, making fun of Harry and teasing him about the school's rough reputation.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he told Harry. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No, thanks," said Harry. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it—it might be sick." Then he ran, before Dudley could work out what he'd said.

"That's my boy! Did you hear that comeback? That was brilliant!" James couldn't help but grin at Harry's quick wit, but his smile quickly faded. "But...why does he have to deal with this rubbish in the first place? That Dudley kid is such a menace!"

One day, while Dudley and Aunt Petunia went to London to buy his Smelting's uniform, Harry was left with Mrs. Figg, who, to his surprise, wasn't as unpleasant as usual due to a recent injury. That evening, Dudley proudly showed off his new school uniform. Smelting's boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Harry didn't trust himself to speak. He thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.

Leanne burst out laughing, nearly doubling over as she wiped tears from her eyes. "Merlin's beard! Maroon tailcoats and knickerbockers? I swear, I would pay good Galleons to see that blubbering cousin of Harry in that outfit! Can you imagine?"

On the Slytherin side, Regulus Black raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "So the Muggles dress their children like clowns and call it education? Maroon and orange—how utterly tacky." He leaned back in his chair, clearly amused.

Laurel Parkinson rolled her eyes, "And I thought our school had some odd traditions. This is just ridiculous. No wonder Potter had trouble keeping a straight face."

The next morning, there was a horrible smell in the kitchen when Harry went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.

"What's this?" he asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question.

"Your new school uniform," she said.

Harry looked in the bowl again.

"Oh," he said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

Harry seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. He sat down at the table and tried not to think about how he was going to look on his first day at Stonewall High—like he was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

"Dyeing Dudley's old clothes gray? What a brilliant idea!" Lily Evans sighed deeply, shaking her head. "Honestly, how creative of Petunia! It's like she wants my son to be humiliated."

"Dyeing his clothes gray? That's positively dreadful!" Frank snorted  "If I were him, I'd wear a paper bag over my head just to avoid the embarrassment. Who needs enemies with relatives like that?"

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual, and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

Both James and Sirius raged hearing that.

Harry dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and—a letter for Harry.

"Oh, I hope it's good news!" Molly  clasped her hands together, a smile spreading across her face. "He deserves something nice after all that nonsense with Dudley and the rags. Maybe it's from one of his friends."

Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives—he didn't belong to the library, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

Lily Evans felt her heart swell with pride as she watched Harry's eyes widen in astonishment. "Is that really it? His Hogwarts letter?" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with excitement.

"It has to be!" James Potter, nodded vigorously. 

Sirius Black bounced on his heels, unable to contain his enthusiasm. "Yes! Get ready for the chaos! Just imagine Harry's first day at Hogwarts." 

"But what if the Dursleys won't let him go?" Mary frowned, a hint of concern in her eyes. "They've been so cruel to him. What if they try to keep him from it?"

Emmeline leaned forward, eyes shining with excitement. "They can't stop him now! This is a letter from Hogwarts! It's a door to a whole new life!" She glanced at Cecilia, who was beaming. "Just think of the friends he'll make."

Lucius Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "A wizard raised by Muggles? How quaint. I'm curious to see how he handles the realities of our world."

Narcissa Malfoy sighed, glancing at her husband. "You're too harsh, Lucius. Give a boy a chance,  he might surprise us all."

Andromeda and Sirius shared a glance, overhearing Narcissa defending a Potter, that too a half-blood.  While Regulus looked at her with a knowing glance. Perhaps there might be still hope for the black siblings.

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

 Benji Fenwick, leaning against the wall, looked bored. "This uncle of his is pathetic. It's a wonder he was still surviving."

Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at his letter. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry's got something!"

Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon.

"Oh! Noo...", Dorcas groaned.

"That's mine!" said Harry, trying to snatch it back.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds, it was the grayish white of old porridge.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment, it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness—Vernon!"

Lily couldn't help but scoff. "Oh, Petunia, always so dramatic. As if she didn't know what was coming." There was a tinge of sadness in her voice, remembering the distance between her and her sister.

Mary chuckled softly, though her brow furrowed in concern. "Harry must be so confused right now. But, Merlin, look at the panic on their faces. It's as though they've seen a Dementor."

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

"I want to read that letter," he said loudly.

"I want to read it," said Harry furiously, "as it's mine."

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them.

Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear and his face pressed against the crack between door and wall, lay flat on his stomach to listen.

There are varying reactions from amusement to frustration to concern regarding the scene that just played in front of them.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address—how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching—spying—might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want—"

Harry could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer... Yes, that's best... we won't do anything..."

"But—"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

"Excuse me! What is that supposed to mean? Why does he make it sound like having magic is a bad thing?" cried a first year Gryffindor.

"Because muggles are ungrateful", replied a second year Slytherin.

Andromeda sighed. "Kids!" "Can we just not do this now?"

That evening, when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before: he visited Harry in his cupboard.

"Where's my letter?" said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to me?"

"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it."

"It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily, "it had my cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er—yes, Harry—about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking... you're really getting a bit big for it... we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."

"Why?" said Harry.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

James Potter couldn't hold back his outrage. "Oh, so now he decides to 'visit' Harry, does he? The first time he's ever given the boy a second thought is when he's terrified of a letter! Absolute coward."

Royce McLaggen barked a sarcastic laugh. "Oh, now he's worried about the 'cupboard' being too small! Brilliant timing, Vernon."

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Harry one trip upstairs to move everything he owned from the cupboard to this room. He sat down on the bed and stared around him. Nearly everything in here was broken.

As Harry lay back on the bed, his mind wandered back to the incident with the vanishing glass at the zoo. It was there that he met Mia, his first real friend. She had made him laugh when Dudley wasn't watching, and she didn't seem to mind how strange Harry's life sounded compared to hers. Harry thought about her now, wondering why she hadn't called him yet. Then, with a sinking feeling, he remembered that while she had given him her phone number, he hadn't given her his.

He sighed, frustrated with himself.

"What if I never see her again?" he thought, the thought making him feel lonelier in this big, cluttered room.

James Potter chuckled, nudging Sirius. "Look at him, already moping over a girl. First friend he's ever had, and he's already wondering if he'll ever see her again. Like father, like son, eh, Pads?"

Sirius Black rolled his eyes, though he couldn't hide a smirk, "Harry, my boy, already feeling heartache and he's only eleven! He's got it bad if he's thinking about her in that gloomy little bedroom of his. Someone should tell him girls don't like sulking!"

Anastasia raised an eyebrow at Sirius. "Speaking from experience, are we Black?"

Sirius simply shrugged though there is a slight twinkle in his eyes.

Fabian Prewett laughed, elbowing his brother. "Someone should tell this kid that if he's anything like James, he's in for a lot of blushing and foot-in-mouth moments."

"I take offense to that. I'm known for my charming nature and smooth abilities. Tell them lily flower." cried James

"Oh! I don't know. They ain't talking anything wrong." said lily much to the James' horror

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother: "I don't want him in there... I need that room... make him get out..."

Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday he'd have given anything to be up here. Today he'd rather be back in his cupboard with that letter than up here without it.

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he'd opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

Evan Rosier remarked, "Perhaps the boy's tougher than he appears. Living with those... people. It's hard not to respect that."

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's another one! 'Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive—' "

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry's letter clutched in his hand.

"Go to your cupboard—I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at Harry. "Dudley—go—just go."

Barty sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Look at them—terrified of a simple letter. It's almost... satisfying to watch them tremble in fear of what they don't understand."

Rabastan Lestrange, grinning maliciously, muttered, "Perhaps we should send them a few more letters, just to see what happens."

Harry walked round and round his new room. Someone knew he had moved out of his cupboard, and they seemed to know he hadn't received his first letter. 

"Could it be Mia?" he wondered suddenly, his heart quickening at the thought. Maybe she had somehow found his address and written to him. But then Harry remembered that Mia didn't know where he lived, let alone that he used to sleep in a cupboard. He dismissed the idea reluctantly and tried to think of how he could get hold of one of those letters.

Pandora Lovegood tapped her chin, saying softly, "He's searching for connection in a world that rejects him. The first step in forming his own family. I hope Mia finds him again."

The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly and dressed silently. He mustn't wake the Dursleys. He stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights. He was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. His heart hammered as he crept across the dark hall toward the front door—

"AARGH!"

Harry leapt into the air; he'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat—something alive!

Lights clicked on upstairs, and to his horror, Harry realized that the big, squashy something had been his uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do. He shouted at Harry for about half an hour and then told him to go and make a cup of tea. Harry shuffled miserably off into the kitchen, and by the time he got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap.

Sirius burst into laughter, nearly doubling over. "Oh, that's rich! Imagine, Vernon Dursley camped out like a guard dog! Honestly, did he really think he'd stop Harry from getting his letter?"

Harry could see three letters addressed in green ink.

"I want—" he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before his eyes.

Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver them they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

Emmeline Vance couldn't hold back her shock. "Unbelievable! You'd think by now Petunia would have accepted her sister's world, instead of acting like this."

Lily crossed her arms, frowning. "Petunia has always been this way. She's in denial. But this doesn't change anything."

On Friday, no fewer than twelve letters arrived for Harry. As they couldn't go through the mail slot, they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Harry in amazement.

But the letters didn't stop. Each day, more letters arrived, addressed in increasingly specific ways. One day, letters were even delivered inside eggs through the kitchen window. Uncle Vernon's paranoia grew with every new letter. He tried everything to stop them—blocking up the chimney, locking every door and window, even moving the family to different rooms in the house.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

From across the room, Selena Rowle sighed. "The lengths those Muggles are going to—it's bordering on obsession. They can try all they like, but Harry's connection to magic isn't something that can be cut off so easily."

Finally, in a state of desperation, Uncle Vernon decided to take the family away. He packed everyone into the car and drove as far as he could. They stayed in a series of strange locations, each more remote than the last.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Harry shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored, but Harry stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering... wondering about Mia. He couldn't help thinking about how fun their time at the zoo had been, and how he might never see her again. His heart felt heavy.

Dorea clenched her fists, shaking her head. "Dragging Harry to strange hotels, keeping him from letters and friends—who do they think they are? It's cruel, that's what it is."

Natasha sighed, her gaze thoughtful. "He's holding on to the memory of Mia. It's remarkable... Even without anyone to encourage him, he's finding a way to hold on to hope."

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.

"'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk."

She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Mr. H. Potter
Room 17
Railview Hotel
Cokeworth

Harry made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The woman stared.

Regulus Black folded his arms, his expression thoughtful. "It's amusing that they believe a remote hotel or damp sheets will hide mini Potter. They misunderstand magic... and Hogwarts."

"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon.

Marlene snorted, giving a mocking sigh. "Poor Dudley, forced to see his father lose his grip. How tragic," she added sarcastically.

Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared. It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."

Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday—and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week, because of television—then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly fun—last year, the Dursleys had given him a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks. Still, you weren't eleven every day.

James let out a wistful sigh, a soft smile on his face. "Eleven... and all he's expecting are coat hangers and socks. That's what they've done to him."

Lily's eyes glistened, her voice catching. "I always imagined I'd be there, celebrating my children's birthdays—our Harry, turning eleven, surrounded by family and love. He deserves so much more than that miserable cupboard."

Ester muttered, "Honestly, I'd love to give those Dursleys a taste of their own medicine. Harry deserves to feel special, and they don't even care."

But even deeper than that, there was another thought. Pix. Harry's imaginary friend, someone who had made all those lonely birthdays just a bit easier. Every year, Pix had left him something, a little token—maybe a drawing or a tiny pebble. Harry thought of Pix now, wondering if he might leave something this year too. But as of now, there was no sign of anything. Harry tried not to be disappointed, but it was hard not to feel forgotten on your birthday.

Lily's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes filled with sorrow and longing. "Our son... had to invent his own friend to get through his birthdays. I should have been there, James. We should have been there."

James tried to laugh it off, but his voice shook. "Pix, huh? You know, that's the sort of friend you make up when you need a light in the dark. But he won't need Pix after all of this will over. He's got us, all of us."

Pandora sighed dreamily. "Pix, an invisible friend... I think Harry's always seen magic, even if he couldn't name it."

Among the Slytherins, Severus and  Rabastan's face was unreadable, though he murmured quietly, "Only a child with no one would turn to an imaginary friend." Barty chuckled darkly but held a pensive look, while Laurel seemed almost sympathetic. Regulus looked thoughtful, though he said nothing, and Evan looked away, uncomfortable.

Across the room, Chris shared a meaningful look with Anastasia and Phillipe at the mention of Pix.

Uncle Vernon was back, and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

Eventually, he found a dilapidated shack perched on a rock in the middle of the sea. It was an isolated, desolate place, battered by wind and rain, but Uncle Vernon seemed satisfied that no letters could reach them there.

Anastasia sighed in exasperation. "Honestly, all this drama over a letter? They've known what Harry is all along. Now they're just panicking because they can't control it anymore."

Hyperion shook his head with a smirk. "It's astounding they think they can keep a young wizard from his birthright through sheer force of will. How... misguided."

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut, and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Harry was left to find the softest bit of floor he could and curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

James clenched his fists, barely able to contain his anger. "My son, sleeping on a filthy floor while that spoiled brat gets the sofa? If I could—"

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry couldn't sleep. He shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, his stomach rumbling with hunger. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight.

Narcissa looked down with a soft, sad expression, while Lucius shared her look, realizing that they'd never wish this fate on a child.

The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry he'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Jaxon leaned back, scoffing. "The so-called family that's supposed to protect him... shameful."

Aldrin huffed. "Family isn't just blood, and that boy deserves better. And he'll get it."

He thought back to his childhood, to the imaginary friend he once had named Pix, who had seemed so real to him. And he thought of the girl named Mia, the only real friend he had ever made, though he had lost contact with her years ago. Harry couldn't help but wonder what his life would be like if he had managed to stay friends with her. Maybe things would have been different. Maybe he wouldn't feel so alone.

From a distance, Elenore whispered, "You'll know love, Son. And soon."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with certainty. "Love has a way of connecting us across distance and hardship. Harry is learning that, though he doesn't know it yet. Pix, Mia, Hogwarts, and his own strength will see him through."

Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak outside. He hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although he might be warmer if it did.

James leaned forward, brow furrowed. "Did you hear that? What's that sound?" 

Frank shook his head.

Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that he'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that?

And two minutes to go. What was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

Lily clasped her hands tightly, her voice a whisper filled with dread. "What if it's danger? I don't like this at all."

One minute to go, and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds... twenty... ten... nine—maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him—three... two... one...

Andrew crossed his arms, a frown on his face. "This is so unsettling."

BOOM.

Everyone flinched back, fearing for Harry's life.

The whole shack shivered and Harry sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.

OH MY GOD!!!