Here is my 1st post to the Fan Fiction forum. I've written it in the context of a theoretical opening chapter to the 7th Harry Potter book, following the set guidelines of course. You did say at least 1000 words, didn't you ? Anyhow, please enjoy.

Durro

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A Somewhat Unhappy Birthday

Although it was just after the middle of summer, late in July, an unearthly fog shrouded much of Britain around the clock. Even at midday, the sun struggled to break through the thick mist and the resulting dim light cast the land into a state of perpetual dusk. Meteorologists across the country were perplexed by the phenomenon which now was stubbornly entering its seventh straight week. They studied their satellite photos, analysed their data and shrugged their shoulders in sad resignation, for none could explain the existence, let alone the continuation, of what clearly should be impossible according to all of their textbooks, as well as their collective common sense.

The fog made international news and swiftly became the butt of many jokes. In the USA, one late night TV show host suggested that the dense mist would increase the British population rate as they couldn’t clearly see each others’ bad teeth. Another quipped that the tolling of the bells in Big Ben were soon to be replaced by the blasts of a foghorn. Some of the many international tourists actually enjoyed the increased spooky atmosphere created by the fog, as they took part in ghost walks along the Royal Mile in Edinburgh or one of several “Jack the Ripper tours” that winded through some of the seedier parts of London.

But for the British people, the novelty of the fog soon wore off and only added to the general sense of doom and gloom that had befallen the country of late. A series of disasters had recently occurred, adding to the morose atmosphere created by the unseasonal weather. Three separate commercial plane crashes and dozens of light plane losses had happened in the preceding several weeks. The resultant loss of life from the crashes created an outpouring of grief and a dramatic reduction in air travel due to the increasing nervousness of the flying public. The fog was blamed for some of the incidents but many suspected the involvement of some shadowy terrorist network. A recent gasworks explosion, the sinking of a oil tanker off the Firth of Forth, two major commuter train derailments and a series of inexplicable and unsolved murders across the nation added to the general depression which had began to sweep the country. Politicians and law enforcement agencies were told to do something by the small minority actually angry and frightened enough to rise above their malaise and complain to the authorities.

From within his office in Number 10 Downing Street, the Prime Minister sadly shook his head at his own inability to act on the recent events. He went through the motions of listening to reports from Scotland Yard about the mysterious deaths, the carnage wreaked upon the transport system and the other disasters with a mounting sense of melancholy. He empathized with the plight of many of his fellow citizens but it was with little real conviction that he directed the authorities to investigate and apprehend the perpetrators, the non-existent terrorists. The PM publicly voiced guarded optimism about a swift resolution to the problems and tried to reassure the population but privately however, the PM was a deeply conflicted man. He simply could not bring himself to reveal to another living soul that the accidents, the killings and even the damned fog were the result of a war raging within the magical world of witches and wizards. People would surely look upon him as a lunatic if he came out and said that the Ministry of Magic kept him updated about the clashes between the followers of You-Know-Who and those in the Ministry and/or the Order of the Phoenix. He would end up in a rubber room with wrap around apparel if he dared to voice the truth that the damned fog was a magical by-product of the secret war being waged unbeknown by most, except those unfortunates occasionally drawn into the conflict and made the unwitting and usually very surprised victims of it, such as the planeload of terrified BA passengers blasted out of the sky by a flying formation of Death Eaters only just last week. No, the Prime Minister kept his private briefings by the assortment of wizards and witches who popped out of his fireplace very much to himself and he silently prayed that the tragic events caused by the magic world would soon be resolved and cease to spill over into everyday existence.

The PM was not the only muggle (non-magic person) in Britain with some knowledge of the war currently raging within the wizarding world. At number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, the occupants were very well aware indeed, given that their nephew Harry was directly involved in the battle. The Dursleys had reluctantly taken in the infant Harry some 16 years earlier following his parents’ deaths at the hands of the world greatest dark wizard, Lord Voldemort and had, more or less, provided Harry a safe home to grow up in. It could not be said that the home environment was either loving or comfortable, but it did at least provide Harry with shelter, food and a basic muggle education prior to Harry’s enrolment at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where Harry learned many and varied things about magic and its uses.

However, the main thing that the Dursleys’ home provided for Harry was a safe haven, protected by strong magical charms and Aunt Petunia’s blood ties to Harry’s mother. Harry was guaranteed protection from attack, as long as he returned to the Dursleys whenever he was outside of Hogwarts, such as during the summer break. Harry’s great friend, mentor and teacher, Albus Dumbledore had insisted (before his untimely death) that Harry return and remain there until his 17th birthday, at which time Harry would come of age and the protection charm would cease to exist. Dumbledore had recently reminded Aunt Petunia about this and despite their serious misgivings, the Dursleys were more afraid of the wrath of Dumbledore and the other wizards that had previously visited Harry and they allowed their nephew to stay - until tonight that is.

It was the eve of Harry’s birthday and the Dursleys - Vernon, Petunia and the imposing figure of the schoolboy boxing champion Dudley - were gathered in the lounge of their little home. It was five minutes to midnight and by definition, 5 minutes to Harry’s seventeenth birthday. The Dursleys, however, were not gathered in preparation to celebrate any birthday. In fact, the only celebrating that they would be doing was when Harry left them at last, and took his mysterious and quite frightening magical associations with him. Over the years, the Dursleys had endured much to their dislike because of Harry and were anxious to see him leave for the final time. The Dursleys were waiting on a visit from Arthur Weasley, who had earlier promised to come and collect Harry and take him with him once Harry became “of age” and the magical protection of the Dursley home expired.

Harry was upstairs in his bedroom, packing the last of his belongings into his trunk. Worn copies of wizarding texts, enchanted photographs whose subjects moved as if in a movie and unruly piles of clothes were cast into the trunk by the flick of Harry’s wand. Harry had gotten proficient in packing, albeit not very neatly, as is the case for most teenage boys.

“We’re leaving at last Hedwig” said a grinning Harry to his owl, who was perched in her cage, unblinkingly watching Harry’s every move. Harry was exhilarated at the prospect of leaving his Aunt and Uncle’s household after 16 years of mistreatment and constant tension. Truth be told, his stomach churned at the prospect of the unknown which lay ahead, but for now, Harry was just pleased to leave this existence behind and immerse himself in the wonderful world of magic at last. Harry’s heart leapt at the sound of a gentle tapping at the Dursley’s front door just after the stroke of midnight. He grabbed Hedwig’s cage, pointed his wand at the trunk and intoned locomotor trunk and eagerly set off down the stairs, cage in hand and trunk magically floating behind.

“I’ll get it” mumbled Vernon and with a considerable effort, pried his large frame from out of his armchair and stomped off towards the front door. He opened it and to his surprise, nobody was there. At least nobody human, for the source of the tapping was a scrawny brown owl standing below on the welcome mat. The mat’s invitation was a misnomer of course, as very few people indeed were made to feel welcome at the Dursleys’ house. Particularly not an owl with an envelope clasped within its little scarred beak, as Vernon had previously nearly had a nervous breakdown when his home was completely invaded by postal owls several years earlier.

“A ruddy owl !” exclaimed Vernon, as he steadied his bulky frame with an outstretched arm holding the doorknob and he bent down with quite an effort to snatch the envelope from the clearly frightened bird. He kicked out at the bird, which narrowly avoided the blow and hurriedly flew off into the misty night.

“What’s this?” asked a suspicious Vernon, returning to the lounge and puzzling over the envelope wrapped in a blood red coloured ribbon. He was over halfway back towards the lounge before he caught sight of Harry’s frozen form on the stairway from out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s a ….. howler”, said a stunned Harry, with a tone of dread that Vernon has never heard Harry use. And for Harry to be worried, something must be fearfully wrong in Vernon’s opinion for what Harry considered normal would cause most people to shudder in fear. Vernon quickly threw the envelope onto the coffee table in the lounge as though it was a poisonous snake and stood back as the envelope began to smoulder and unfurl of its own accord.

Hedwig’s cage and the trunk clattered on the stairs as Harry hurriedly rushed towards the lounge, his wand drawn at the ready for whatever might eventuate. He desperately hoped that he was wrong, but the twinges of pain in his scar that first started when the howler arrived gave him a sinking feeling that this was not going to be good. The envelope completed its opening and the dark smoke emanating from it slowly took the form of a skull with a ghostly snake writhing around its cranium and through its empty eye sockets. Harry clutched his hand to his scar, which was now burning with a fierce intensity, as the now familiar and dreadfully cold, high pitched voice emanating from the howler filled the room.

“Happy Birthday Harry….your protection charm has expired…..it’s a fair fight now and the gloves have come off…..I hope you'll like the present I sent you.”

Lord Voldemort’s voice resonated around the room and a deep chill ran through Harry and the Dursleys.

“Get out. Get out right now” Harry gasped out the order, as Voldemort’s cruel laughter filled the room and the howler spontaneously combusted in a shower of red sparks and flames.

“You…you can’t order me around in my own ruddy home” sputtered an angry Vernon over the crackles of the flames which had started to take hold on the table. Petunia had grabbed a cushion off the couch and was desperately trying to pat the flames down.

“There’s the door. Leave now and never come back with your freakish friends and your ruddy magic”. Vernon pointed a chubby finger at the door. At that moment though, the front door loudly exploded inwards in a shower of splinters and spurts of flame. Vernon’s jaw dropped in complete shock as a man dressed in dark wizarding robes and with shoulder length platinum blonde hair boldly strode through the smoking opening.

“Expelliarmus!” roared Lucius Malfoy, pointing his wand at Harry as he crossed the wrecked threshold with a triumphant look upon his cruel face. Harry’s wand leaped across the room, clattering behind the couch and Harry was forcibly thrown against the lounge room wall by the sheer power of the curse, the breath clearly knocked out of him.

“Crucio!” sneered the advancing Malfoy, and Harry’s entire world was filled with stabbing knives and unbearable jolts of electricity throughout his entire body. His mind screamed for release from the agony but his throat was locked in paralysis.

“Get out of my home!” bellowed Vernon, as Petunia and Dudley dove behind the couch and hid from the terrible scene before them. Vernon’s face glowed red and his chest heaved as his terrible temper unwisely took hold. This was the last straw. He could take no more, and he advanced on the blond haired wizard who had invaded his home and was gleefully torturing Harry.

“Your type is not welcome and I demand that you leave now!” he roared, poking Malfoy sharply in the chest with his chubby index finger.

Malfoy regarded Vernon with contempt and turned his wand away from Harry, who was given a temporary reprieve from the torture. Vernon backed away uneasily, quickly regretting his bravado.

Malfoy hissed “Avada Kedavra” and the stunned Vernon dropped to the ground, dead, having been hit full on by the green coloured killing curse.

“Nooooooooo” wailed the cowering Petunia, as Lucius turned back toward the crumpled form of Harry.

“Happy Birthday Potter”, chuckled Malfoy. “Since your protection charm has now expired, it was a simple matter for Lord Voldemort to send a howler and for me to follow the postal owl to your home. I’m your birthday present from the Dark Lord and I’m here to take you back with me. But not before we have some more fun, shall we? Crucio !” and Harry’s vision turned black around the edges again while his body contorted and twitched uncontrollably as it was wracked by the curse’s agony.

“Are we having fun yet?” mocked Malfoy, as he once again released Harry from the pain. “I can keep this up all night if you wish, but mark my word Potter, this is nothing compared to what the Dark Lord will do to you when he finally has you in his hands again.”

Behind the couch, Dudley and Petunia quivered in fear and anger. They looked furtively around for an escape route, but they knew that they would not get far before being cut down by the sheer evil power of the wizard before them. Petunia clutched her son by the shoulder and stared into Dudley’s eyes with a look of desperation, causing something inside Dudley to stir. The fog of war cleared from Dudley’s mind and an idea almost too startling to comprehend started to form. Keeping an eye on the scene before him, Dudley edged along between the wall and the back of the couch, fingers clawing for what he knew was there. At last, his hands gratefully gripped Harry’s discarded wand and he stood up boldly. Dudley remembered the hateful word and took in a deep breath, pointing Harry’s wand at the unaware Malfoy, whose concentration was still fully elsewhere.

“Crucio” Dudley screamed and he felt all of his pent up hatred and anger course through his trembling body and out the wand as a red jet of light struck Malfoy and caused him to fall to the ground, howling in pain. Still slumped against the wall, Harry’s eyes opened wide in shock as Dudley leapt over the couch and advanced on the prostrated form of Malfoy, kicking Lucius’s dropped wand out of easy reach in the process. Malfoy quickly regained his senses and rose to his feet, his confused eyes darting around to find his lost wand. The last thing that Malfoy saw out of his peripheral vision was Dudley’s enormous right fist flying through the air and connecting with his jaw. Dudley had put every ounce of anger he could muster behind the knockout blow, and with a sickening crunch, Malfoy went down for the count like the proverbial sack of potatoes.

It was hard to say who was the most stunned – Petunia, Harry or Dudley himself. Lucius never had the chance to be surprised as he was rendered unconscious for the better part of an hour and would later wake up with a broken jaw and heavily bruised left eye.

“Oh my God” said Harry, as he took in the significance of the moment. He shakily rose to his feet, needing to hold the arm of the couch to do so. “I never knew….” he trailed off.

“We thought that this might happen one day” said Petunia flatly in a monotone voice. Harry’s head spun sharply and he stared at amazement at this revelation from his Aunt.

“Dumbledore told us that Dudley could be magical, but we never wanted Dudders to know it. My sister was a witch and it was always possible that it would come through to Dudley. Blood ties you see. We hoped that it wouldn’t be the case and that he would be…well, normal”, said Petunia, breaking down in tears and hugging Dudley fiercely.

“I heard what that guy said and how it made Harry hurt” replied Dudley. “I just wanted to hurt him back for Dad”. At the mention of Vernon, both Petunia and Dudley broke down and knelt together, arms wrapped around each other, by Vernon’s limp form.

"Even though Dudley is untrained in wizardry, I guess that his raw emotion made the curse at least partially effective" Harry said quietly, almost to himself, still trying to come to terms with this revelation.

Harry gently walked over and took his wand out of Dudley’s yielding hand. A brief look of new understanding passed between them and Harry gave a subtle nod of thanks to his cousin. Leaving the Dursleys to their grief for the moment, Harry walked over and sat down heavily on a chair near the immobile form of Lucius Malfoy, wand at the ready just in case he stirred. Harry tried to clear his mind about what to do next.

The scene was soon interrupted though by the cries of Arabella Figg, the Squib who lived across the road, who entered through the ruined door with Arthur Weasley and Mad Eye Moody in tow, wands drawn at the ready.

“See, I told you it was Malfoy” shrieked a clearly distressed Figg pointing at the body on the floor.
“Settle down Arabella” said a surprisingly calm Moody. “He’s clearly not going anywhere. We were already flying on the way to get you Harry, but got delayed by this damned fog. We found Arabella in a right old state across the road, swearing that she thought that Lucius Malfoy had just gone into the house, but it seems that we arrived too late for the fun. Got him with a stunner did you lad?” asked Moody.

“Well, actually…” started a shaken Harry, who was interrupted by Arthur Weasley.

“Never mind for now Harry, we have to get you out of here, it’s not safe.” ordered Arthur. “Alastor, you take care of this piece of filth. I’m going to fly back to the Burrow with Harry. Clean up as best you can before the muggle police come.”

Arthur turned to the Dursleys and said “I’m sorry that it came to this. You should know that we won’t be bothering you anymore and that you should be safe from now on. Harry is coming with me and probably won’t return” and with that rather curt statement, a clearly worried Arthur gathered together Harry’s things and loaded up his and Harry’s brooms for the flight to the Burrow.

Harry had time to mutter a quick goodbye to the grieving Dursleys before he was swept out the door and ordered in no uncertain terms to closely follow next to Arthur’s broom. It was too dark and foggy to make out much, and the rushing of the wind prevented much conversation. The flight through the foggy sky passed uneventfully though and finally the duo landed safely at The Burrow, the family home of the Weasleys, well past midnight.

END OF PART ONE