The Eighth Horcrux

...

It was a day like any other, Albus thought. Save for the fact that he had woken up in a cupboard under some stairs. That was the first strange thing. The second being, everyone seemed to not be paying him any mind. It was as if he didn't exist. When he left the cupboard and attempted to talk to someone, they just ignored him or grunted at him. Albus knew that he wasn't dreaming anymore-this was far too real to be a dream. Last night, he had gone to bed in the Slytherin dormitories, and this morning he woke up under the stairs again. Albus was so confused by it all. Apparently, this family was going somewhere today, so they left him in the care of some muggle woman that lived next door. She didn't seem like such a bad lady, but he was wary of her. Something seemed off about her.

That evening, the boy called Dudley, who by this point Albus knew to be his Dad's cousin for certain, paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Albus supposed that was what it was they had gone after that morning. Smeltings' 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, Dudly had boasted. As Albus looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, The man called Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. The Petunia woman burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up.

Albus didn't trust himself to speak. It was hard to look at this fat lump and not laugh.

Feeling hungry, Albus decided to venture out of the cupboard and into the kitchen. There was a horrible smell in the kitchen, like someone had set off more than one Dungbomb and a Stinkpellet. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink, so he went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.

"What on earth is this?" he asked.

His Great-Aunt Petunia's lips pursed in dissatisfaction, as if he should have known not to ask a question.

"Your new school uniform, " she said.

Albus looked in the bowl again and grimaced.

"Oh," he said, "Can't I just get new robes from Diagon Alley?" he asked.

Petunia stiffened. "Where did you hear that name?" she asked accusingly, almost in a whisper, pointing dying tongs at Albus. He thought maybe he shouldn't have opened his mouth in the first place.

"Um...no...n-nevermind." and turned and left the kitchen.

Dudley and Vernon soon came in, and both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from the new uniform. 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. "

"That's not my name. And make Dudley get it, you told him first. Git could use the exercise." Albus muttered the last bit under his breath.

"Hit him with your Smelting stick, Dudley. "

Albus dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from someone named Marge, a brown envelope of some sort, and - a letter addressed to a Harry Potter. Albus didn't feel right going through his father's mail, but since everyone around here was calling him Harry, he assumed he could open it. Albus picked it up and stared at it. The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. It looked like the Hogwarts letter Albus had received earlier that year. But it couldn't be. His father had been graduated from Hogwarts for almost 20 years. Why would he be getting a Hogwarts letter? Turning the envelope over, Albus saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H. Yup. Definitely a letter from Hogwarts.

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Vernon from the kitchen.

"What are you doing, checking for letterbombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Albus went back to the kitchen, looking over the letter. He handed Vernon the brown envelope and the postcard from the Marge lady, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope. Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill, " he informed Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk. -. "

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

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

"Hey!" said Albus, trying to snatch it back. "Give it back! That's not yours!" Of course, it technically wasn't Albus' either...

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered 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!" They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Albus and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley, Albus supposed, wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

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

"G-Get out, both of you, " croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope. Albus didn't move. "What's wrong with the letter?" Albus asked confused.

"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

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

Dudley was trying to listen and look through the peephole, so Albus got down on the floor to see from below. What on earth was going on? It was just a Hogwarts letter, right? What was wrong with it?

"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?" she asked.

"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 - - "

Al could barely see 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?"

That evening when he got back from work, Vernon visited Albus while he was in his cupboard.

"Where's the letter?" asked Al, the moment Vernon had managed to squeeze through the door.

"Gone. It was addressed to you by mistake, " said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it. "

"It was not a mistake, " said Albus angrily, "it had the address- even the cupboard on it. Besides, Hogwarts doesn't make mistakes." Albus said, irritably.

"What?" gasped Uncle Vernon, holding his big, beefy hand to his mouth. "How do you know about...urm...that place? We've never told you...but of course..." he continued, mumbling. "I should've known. It's probably innate in them, the freaks...they've probably been talking to him for years behind our backs..." 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." Vernon said.

"Why?" asked Albus. These people surely didn't care about him before, and he doesn't understand why they should now, all of a sudden.

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

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 Albus one trip upstairs to move everything that was in the cupboard to that room.

He sat down on the bed and stared around him. Nearly everything in here was broken, he supposed. He couldn't really tell what all these Muggle toys were, but they all looked like they didn't work. He wasn't even sure magic could fix some of these. The only thing that Albus recognized was a television set, with a giant hole in it from something. His mum and dad kept a telly at home, so they could watch tv and the like. Of course, it was all Muggle programing, except for a few channels that you had to change the telly with your wand to get at. There was also a large birdcage, with absolutely nothing inside of it. Albus supposed it had an occupant at one point, but it was long gone by the looks of this cage. There were also shelves full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched.

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... " Albus sighed and stretched out on the bed. He wondered what on earth was going on, and if he was going slightly mad. Sometimes if felt like this world was real, and then sometimes it felt like his life at home with his family was real. It couldn't possibly be both, could it? Sometimes, Albus would spent a lot of time here, days, weeks, even, and then end back up in his Slytherin dormitory. This world seemed to be going by quicker than his own, Albus assumed the dates were trying to coincide. Not that he knew what the bloody hell was going on in the first place. He needed to talk to someone about this. But who? Professor Longbottom? Professor Slughorn? Professor McGonagall? Albus sighed and turned back over on his new bed and fell fast asleep.

The next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his stupid school 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. Vernon and Petunia kept looking at each other darkly. When the mail arrived, Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Albus, 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, Albus 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 Albus had grabbed Vernon around the neck from behind. He wasn't sure why he was fighting so hard to get his Dad's acceptance letter. If they didn't let him go, someone from the school would come and get him, but Albus supposed it was the principle of the matter. You don't just take post that's not yours. Although, Albus thought, technically, it was his dad's mail, not his. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with the letter clutched in his hand.

"Go to your cupboard - I mean, your bedroom, " he wheezed at Albus.

"Dudley - go - just go. " Albus walked round and round his new room, pacing in anticipation. He just couldn't wait until this nightmare was over and he was back in Hogwarts. 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 Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for a Mr. Harry Potter. Albus smirked as he watched the owls try and deliver the letter. 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. Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed a song as he worked, and jumped at small noises.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters addressed to a Mr. Harry Potter found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Albus in amazement. Albus just ignored him, and went back to cooking dinner, as his Great-Aunt Petunia had ordered him to do.

On Sunday morning, Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy. "No post on Sundays, " he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today - - "

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Albus leapt into the air trying to catch one.

"Out! OUT!" Vernon seized Albus around the waist and threw him into the hall. When Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it, " said 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!" He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, and two more big clunky muggle items in his sports bag. They drove. And they drove. Even Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shake 'em off... Shake 'em off, " he would mutter whenever he did this.

"It's not going to work, you know." Albus informed them. "Hogwarts won't just give up."

However, Vernon didn't listen to Albus and just turned up the radio in the car so the music would drown him out. They didn't stop to eat or drink all day.

By nightfall, Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd been complaining nonstop about a kompuetoor. Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Albus ended up sharing a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Albus stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering what the hell was going on with his life. Why was he stuck here with these people? He wanted him mum and dad, he wanted to see the green banners of the Slytherin dormitories...hell, he even wanted to see his prat of a brother. Anyone, please, just make this world go away...

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day, and Albus huffed. Apparently, he wasn't going home just yet. How many days had it been on this side? He wondered. 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. Albus made a grab for the letter, but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The woman stared.

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

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but 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.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Petunia dully late that afternoon. 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 Albus of something. If it was Monday - and he had been keeping track of the date now, because of this horrible situation - then tomorrow, Tuesday, was July 31st, his dad's birthday. He wished he was in his own home so he could tell his dad Happy birthday, and give him a present.

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

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

It was very cold outside the car. Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there. "Storm forecast for tonight!" said Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.

"I've already got us some rations, " said Vernon, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house. The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms. Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully. He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Albus, however, thought it was unicorn turds. If Hogwarts wanted to get in contact with him, a little storm wouldn't stop them. 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. Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Harry was left to find the softest bit of floor he could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket. The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. BOOM. The whole shack shivered and Albus sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake.

"Where's the cannon?" he said stupidly. There was a crash behind them and Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a gun of some kind in his hands - now they knew what had been in the long, thin package he had brought with them.

"Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you - I'm armed!"

There was a pause. Then -SMASH! The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor. A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggymane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair. The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey... "

He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear.

"Budge up, yeh great lump, " said the stranger. Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Vernon. "An' here's Harry!" said the giant. Albus looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw the beetle eyes crinkled in a smile. Albus recognized the man at once. How could he not? It was Hagrid, his dad's half-giant friend from Hogwarts.

FINALLY, someone from the wizarding world. Albus had never been so glad to see anyone and his eyes shone with tears.

"HAGRID!" Albus smiled, running up to him and giving him a great, big hug. The man, surprised, pat Albus on the head and smiled.

"Why, I didn't think you'd know me yet. How've you been, Harry?" Albus cried and cried. He didn't realize that he missed Hogwarts this much.

"Awful! I want to go home...please take me home...I want to go back to Hogwarts..." Albus cried.

Hagrid just smiled and pat him on the head. "Don't worry, we'll be at Hogwarts soon enough. But, don't you want to read your letter, Harry?"

Albus ignored the fact that even Hagrid called him by his father's name. It was very obvious now, he was in the past, and he was in his father's body. It didn't take a bloody genius to figure that out.

"Well, don't you?" Hagrid asked, holding the letter out to him. It seemed like now, after all this fuss, Albus was finally going to get the letter that seemed to be the topic of discussion. He stretched out his hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green to Mr. H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. He pulled out the letter and read:

...

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. , Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. OfWizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

...

Albus nodded. It was exactly what he thought it was. His dad's Hogwarts letter. There were only a few things that bugged him, which was that Albus Dumbledore, his namesake, had been dead for around 20 years his time, and Professor McGonagall was Primary Headmistress. Composing himself and drying his eyes, Albus nodded.

"Okay, I've read it. Can we go now?" he looked up at Hagrid, who seemed to be looking at Albus in fascination.

"Y-Yeah. O'course we can. Just grab what you want and we'll go."

Al nodded and sighed. Finally, he was going back to Hogwarts. Now this nightmare would finally be over. Al grabbed one or two items, looked back at the Dursley's one more time, and followed Hagrid out of the hut.

...