Chapter 4- Return to Privet Drive(part 2).

After what seemed like forever, Harry's goal was finally in sight. The charm Mrs. Weasley put on his trunk had helped immeasurably. It was still awkward to carry, but he would have collapsed in exhaustion long ago if it had been at its normal weight.

To make matters worse, Harry had been coping with generalized body aches for several days now. He assumed they were souvenirs of either the TriWizard Tournament, or Voldemort holding him under the Cruciatus Curse. They weren't that bad, really, just annoying. Harry reckoned they would fade completely given time, and hadn't made an issue of them. Now, after carrying his trunk all this way, his arms, shoulders, and back were aching relentlessly.

"Just a few more houses. Not much longer now," he puffed, keeping an eye on the sky. It looked like a storm was brewing. Maybe if his luck held out, he could get indoors before the rain hit.

There it is. Thank goodness. Harry smiled in spite of himself when he reached number four. He hesitated a moment, bracing himself, before entering the fray. Idly, he let his gaze roam over the yard and flowerbeds, then he lifted an eyebrow in confusion.

Aunt Petunia, always conscious of appearances, took great pride in her neat household and immaculate yard. Harry didn't know if she did the work herself while he was away, or if Vernon hired someone to help, but always before when he'd arrived for the summer holidays, the yard was neatly trimmed and edged, and the flowerbeds were a riot of color, without a weed in sight.

Now, however, the yard was beginning to show signs of needing to be cut, and the usually pristine flowerbeds were looking...well, they were looking a bit ragged, really. Like they hadn't been properly tended in a while.

The sight was so unexpected, and so completely out of character for the Dursley family, Harry could only gape in dismay. His exhausted brain searched for a reasonable explanation, even as his heart rate and breathing sped up. Something's wrong! Harry thought wildly, dropping his trunk. Someone must be sick...or hurt...

...or dead, a little voice whispered nastily in the back of his mind. Dead like Cedric.

Harry clenched his fists and dropped into an instinctive crouch. Even as he told himself to stop being so stupid, his eyes flickered randomly from the uncut grass–

There's nothing there.

–to the unswept walk–

Nothing, absolutely nothing! It's so quiet I can hear the street light humming!

–to the small picket sign–

It's getting late. They're probably in bed.

–to the neglected flowerbeds–

Nope. No Death Eaters here...

Wait.

Back up.

A sign?!

Harry frowned through his glasses as he moved closer to investigate. He saw the sign all right, but couldn't quite make out the writing in the dark. As he grew near, the moon peeked out from behind a cloud and lent a little more light to the scene. When Harry was near enough to see, he blinked at the sign in surprise.

Number four Privet Drive was for sale.

Harry stared at the sign for a moment before giving himself a little shake. We're moving! he thought, not entirely sure how he felt about this turn of events. Deciding the Dursley's would likely continue to treat him as they always had, regardless of location, Harry shrugged, and went to fetch his trunk.

You're lucky Ron and Fred and George can't see you right now, Harry grumbled to himself. They'd be laughing themselves sick over the 'Great Harry Potter' acting like a paranoid git.

I reckon they got busy packing and cleaning, Harry mused, then wrinkled his nose. Most likely left all the really nasty jobs for me.

Still, he was cheered in a weird sort of way. Moving was no small task. Perhaps the Dursleys hadn't deliberately left him to make his own way home after all. Harry froze in the act of lifting his trunk. That is so pathetic, he thought ruefully. Most people would be insulted to have been forgotten at all. I'm happy because at least I wasn't forgotten on purpose. Well, I hope I wasn't, anyway.

Harry started toward the house, wishing he could lose the sense of foreboding that had been with him since King's Cross. He wasn't sure if it was just nerves, or if there was really something amiss. All he knew was his senses were on high alert in spite of his peaceful surroundings. It was quite irritating, really. The porch light flared to life as he approached the front door. Here we go, Harry thought somewhat resignedly. Time to get on your game, he counseled himself. Don't let them get to you.

The young wizard waited a few seconds for the door to be thrown open. It would most likely be Vernon. Harry would be yanked unceremoniously into the house, then Uncle Vernon would probably launch into a long speech about how worthless and rude and ungrateful Harry was, et cetera, et cetera, ad nauseam.

The porch light died, startling Harry out of his thoughts.

"Oh, really now," the boy tutted in annoyance. "How childish can one family be?" he fumed, setting down his trunk and raising his hand to knock on the door.

The light clicked back on.

Harry raised his eyebrow again. Are they trying to drive me mad? he wondered as he knocked on the door. Out loud he called, "Uncle Vernon? Aunt Petunia? It's Harry. May I come in?"

Several more seconds ticked by. The door remained firmly shut.

Harry clenched his teeth together and slowly counted to ten when the light clicked off again. He was tired, and he hurt, and he was certainly in no mood for stupid games. With a supreme effort, he refrained from screaming, "Just open the bloody door!" and instead rubbed weary hands under his glasses.

The light clicked on.

Dudley. It has to be Dudley, Harry thought, throwing the porch light a sizzling glare. Colossal prat. He was getting ready to knock again when something occurred to him.

The porch light was new. Upon closer inspection, he saw it was the type with a motion sensor. Harry absently remembered Vernon admiring a similar model at one of the neighbors' houses last summer. There was a small switch on the side that was currently set to "Test." The light flipped off again as the boy studied the switch.

Harry gulped and felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Experimentally, he waved a hand in front of the light, and was rewarded when it flared to life.

Realization hit then. Harry closed his eyes, and leaned against the door as he finally figured out what had been bothering him since he first set foot on the property. Except for the porch light the house was completely dark and still.

No night lights.

No telly.

No voices.

Nothing.

Trying to ignore the horrible sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry gathered his nerve, and walked over to the living room window. As he neared, he noticed that the curtains were missing.

Aunt Petunia could be washing... Harry tried before letting the thought die uncompleted. He knew he was grasping at straws. Petunia regularly laundered her window treatments, true, but she always had them back in place before nightfall.

The prickles of alarm on the back of Harry's neck were spreading up to his scalp, and down his spine and arms.

He didn't want to look in that window.

He really didn't want to look in that window.

He wouldn't.

He couldn't.

He had to.

Screwing his courage up one last notch, Harry peered through the glass.

The house was dark and completely empty. The only things in the living room were patches of moonlight on the walls and floor.

******