Chapter 24. Harry hunting, anyone?(part 2)

Deciding preventative action was necessary, at least until Petunia came to her senses, Arabella had returned that evening, sneaking unnoticed under the cover of darkness. She surreptitiously fired some charms through the kitchen window while the family was eating dinner, once again troubled by the rather stilted way Harry was treated. If Vernon and Petunia threw anything out that had anything to do with any of the Potters, they would be compelled to throw it in the kitchen bin. The bin, she bewitched with recognition, repairing and cleaning charms, then made it a highly specialized portkey. Any of Harry's belongings that were thrown into that bin would be restored to like-new condition, and automatically transferred to the box, which she had already fitted with expansion and lightening charms.

Arabella stopped pacing and looked up suddenly in alarm. I never removed those charms! Heavens, what that box must contain! I'll have to clean all the rubbish out of it before I give it to Harry. She scanned her living room, the frowned in confusion. She was almost certain she had fetched the box down from the attic before Sirius and Remus showed up, meaning to give it to the boy when he returned from Hogwarts, but it didn't seem to be around. Perhaps she just meant to get it down. No matter. She could sort that out later, once young Mr. Potter's whereabouts were verified.

Shaking her head impatiently, Arabella Figg strode over to the fireplace, completely overlooking Harry's note which the cats had knocked onto the floor. "Hogwarts!" she commanded, tossing a handful of floo powder into her hearth.

"Easy...easy...just a little more...yes, I believe that does it," Arthur Weasley said encouragingly, as he and Molly worked to enclose his shed with protective spells, and integrate it into the collective whole that surrounded the Burrow and the property it stood on. They'd learned fairly quickly how to conjure, then gently stretch the magical protection to cover the required area, although sometimes they still tore it. No, the hardest part was joining two or more pieces together. Molly had compared it to trying to work with satin. Making smooth, even seams with no holes, tears, or slippage was harder than one might think, and different with every person. No wonder the Aurors who did this all the time tended to stay with the same partners and teams.

Molly nodded wearily, and arched her back, stretching the tense muscles, and making her spine pop in a few places. Leaning against Arthur's work bench, she idly picked up a battery, and shook her head fondly. "I don't suppose I could convince you to clean out some of this muggle rubbish?"

Arthur shrugged, and looked around. "Perhaps I might be persuaded to part with some of it," he hedged. "But not all of it," he finished, staring moodily out of the small window.

His wife raised astonished eyebrows at the first part of his statement, then moved closer and slid her arms around his waist when she noticed his tired and apprehensive body language. "It will work out," she said gently.

"Yes, I know," he responded, resting his chin on the top of her head, and pulling her close. "I just feel a bit overextended right now."

Molly said nothing, just began rubbing his back. Arthur closed his eyes, and allowed himself to relax a bit, as her hands moved in slow circles, easing the knotted tension in the muscles of his lower back.

"Mum? Dad?"

The elder Weasleys exchanged a rueful smile, and one last hug, before separating. "Never a dull moment," Molly observed, before calling, "In here, Ron."

Ron and Ginny entered the shed, a few seconds later, each carrying two glasses of lemonade. "Ginny made this," Ron said without preamble. "We thought you might like some."

"How lovely, dear!" Molly smiled, accepting a glass from her daughter, and taking a deep swallow. "Oh, Ginny! This is delicious!" she told her smiling, blushing daughter. "And aren't you the thoughtful ones to bring it out here," she said fondly ruffling her son's hair.

"So, how's it going?" Ron asked, in what he hoped was a casual manner after they'd sipped their drinks for a few minutes in silence. He and Ginny had been snapped at quite a few times during the last couple of weeks by their parents and oldest brothers because of their almost constant queries about their progress. It had been especially bad in the beginning, when everyone had been making annoying, frustrating mistakes.

Molly sighed when she saw the apprehension in her children's eyes. "I think we're almost done in here," she said calmly, then slanted her husband a teasing look, "unless your father decides to begin sorting through his collection tonight."

"Actually," Arthur said, frowning into a shadowed corner, "I don't recognize this." He rummaged around in the corner for a minute, and came out with a set of bars.

"Oh," Ron said, with a look of surprised recognition. "I'd almost forgotten those."

"Ronald," his mother said seriously, "Please don't tell me that you've begun collecting muggle rubbish as well."

Her son shook his head. "No, it's nothing like that. Those are Harry's."

"Harry's?!"

"Well, they belong to his uncle, actually," Ron amended. He took in his parents' and sister's dumbstruck expressions, and shrugged. "They're from summer before second year," he explained, keeping a wary eye on his mother for signs of an impending explosion. "You know, when Fred and George and I took Dad's flying car to Surrey." When his family continued to gape at him, Ron grew irritated. "What? We told you he had bars on his window, remember?"

Dumbly, Molly nodded, thinking back to that summer morning while Arthur and Ginny looked on aghast.

They were starving him Mum! There were bars on his window!

Molly began to feel ill. At the time, she had assumed that this was yet another cock-and-bull story dreamed up by her twin sons. Harry had been a little thin, true, and she hadn't liked the vibes she picked up from his uncle at Kings Cross Station, but Harry had been thin since she'd known him, and he hadn't seemed maladjusted or horribly mistreated. In fact he'd fit right in to life in her household, and hadn't been any trouble at all. "Yes, I remember," she said faintly, horror dawning in her eyes. "I thought your brothers were embellishing the facts again. I never dreamed..."

Arthur, meanwhile, looked furious and had turned very red, remembering his own interaction with the Dursley family the previous summer. He asked Ron to tell him exactly what happened, and his son had obliged, describing how he had become worried when Harry hadn't answered his letters, and sought his brothers' advice. The sky had been cloudy, so they had decided to fetch Harry, and pretend he had shown up in the night. Ron had stopped, and shrugged sheepishly at this, then resumed.

They'd found Harry locked in his room. He'd been there for three days, and had only been let out twice a day to use the restroom. His muggle relatives had been feeding him small amounts of food through a cat flap in his door. His Hogwarts things had been locked in a cupboard under the stairs. Fred and George had been forced to pick the locks on Harry's bedroom door and the cupboard, after they'd literally ripped the bars off his bedroom window. Ron had hoisted the bars into the car, and they'd brought them along, not knowing what else to do with them.

"So this is why you've been so anxious for Harry to come to the Burrow," Arthur stated flatly.

"Yes, sir," Ron said meekly.

"And the food we sent last summer? He wasn't really just missing my cooking, was he?"

Stricken, Ron shrugged, and suddenly found his shoelaces very interesting. When Harry had written last summer with news of Dudley's diet, Ron had assumed he just hadn't wanted to live on vegetables all summer, and was craving a little variety. It had never crossed his mind that his friend might not be getting enough to eat.

Arthur met his wife's tearful gaze, then nodded grimly. "I think a visit to Hogwarts is in order," he stated, in a remarkably calm voice, leading his family back to the Burrow.

Albus Dumbledore sighed sadly as he made his way back to his office from the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. Remus Lupin's transformation on the 12th had been especially bad. Even with the Wolfsbane Potion, he was still recovering two days later. Sirius Black had portkeyed them both to Hogwarts as soon as Remus was no longer a danger, and he'd been under Poppy Pomphrey's watchful eye ever since.

Of course, that would change, and soon, if the werewolf had his way.

"Ice mice," he said to the gargoyle who guarded the entrance to his office. As he climbed up the spiral stairway, Dumbledore wondered briefly when Fawkes would be back. The firebird had been his companion for many years now, and Albus found himself missing the phoenix's presence.

As he entered his office, and made his way over to his desk, his attention was caught by a now familiar sound.

Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Someone, or several someones were sending reports. Curiously, he let his gaze roam along the neat stacks of parchment lined on his desk, stopping in delighted surprise when he came to the parchment he'd set up "just in case." Young Harry was reporting. A lot. Four pages worth, in fact.

The Headmaster raised an eyebrow as he perused the boy's parchment. Harry explained that he had been keeping notes since he realized what was happening, and he'd been waiting for Hedwig to return so he could send them on. Albus smiled. Good lad. Harry had obviously proven himself to Fawkes as well, since he was using the charmed parchment and quills. Excellent.

Scanning the letter, Dumbledore rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Some of the information Harry reported he already knew, but there was quite a bit that he did not. Severus and the rest of the Death Eaters, for example had not been aware that Voldemort had gone through a period of weakness just after his rebirth.

Dumbledore's eyebrows drew together in concentration as he read: Voldemort was taking advantage of the Minister's current idiocy and laying low. Possible attack on Privet Drive? Snape's potion would presumably be administered to Peter Pettigrew within the next 48 - 72 hours. Voldemort still hated muggles, muggleborns, and half-bloods as much as he ever did. Arthur Weasley and Amos Diggory mentioned by name by Lucius Malfoy? Malfoy also mentioned that Fudge had refused to allow Aurors to ward the Burrow. Hmm. Arthur and Amos must be warned to be especially vigilant. He flipped through the report, amazed at the wealth of information it contained. This connection of Harry's could prove invaluable, provided it wasn't having a negative effect on his health.

Skimming quickly over Harry's correspondence, Albus searched specifically for any responses the boy may have made to the questions he was asked about his scar, or his connection. Most of the parchment was filled with dreams, impressions, and overheard snatches of conversation, but finally, after he finished copying his notes, Harry had begun to hesitantly pass on some thoughts and theories of his own.

According to Harry, his scar had not been bothering him overmuch...yet. By the way he described his connection, Albus was sure that it would-once Voldemort decided to come out of hiding. The boy was evidently protected from scar pains and visions to a certain extent by the dark wizard's current inactivity. It wouldn't last forever, though. By all indications, in this report, and in others he had received, Voldemort was planning something big. The intelligence he was receiving seemed to indicate the dark forces were gearing up for an attack. Specifically, an attack against Harry Potter.

Albus blew his breath out through his teeth, and massaged his temples. If this kept up, Harry might be well advised to cease his summer employment. Additional wards and spells might not be a bad idea either. He would contact Arabella later, and seek her input. He certainly didn't wish to imprison Harry in his uncle's house, but he shuddered to think what Voldemort and his Death Eaters might do to the boy if he fell into their clutches again.

Re-focusing on the last piece of parchment, Albus read the last bit, then blinked and read it again. It was a small paragraph, just a few sentences, but it shocked the old wizard as few things had in recent history. The wonder of it was, Harry had added it casually. Almost like an afterthought:

I guess that's all I have to report sir, I hope you find the information useful. Oh, and one other thing...my aunt and uncle have sold their property on Privet Drive. The house is currently vacant. If Voldemort is planning to attack me there, I'm afraid he'll be disappointed.

Yours Sincerely,

Harry Potter

Before Albus had time to recover from this little bombshell, he heard the babble of raised, excited voices outside his door, then someone firmly hammered on it.

"Come in," he called, rising, and observing as Arthur Weasley, Arabella Figg, Severus Snape, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin all but tumbled into his office. Arabella was waving a piece of parchment around, and Arthur was brandishing something that looked like a small metal garden gate. Sirius and Remus looked furious, and Snape looked very put out.

When the tumult finally died down to a manageable level, Albus sank back into his chair, and conjured a few more so everyone had a place to sit. When everyone had taken a seat, the headmaster folded his hands on top of his desk and studied his guests. "So, what can I help you with?"

****"