Inside the smallest bedroom of a small suburban house on the outskirts of Little Whinging, the quiet and calm evening was disturbed by a storm of clothes and books. As the stars began to shine in the sky and the last lights of day disappeared over the horizon, a dark-haired teenager was rummaging through his meagre possessions. Sitting atop an askew desk covered in newspaper clips and half-written to-do lists was a cage, its bottom littered with feathers and the remains of a rodent, its occupant was enjoying a well-deserved rest, undisturbed by the boy's frantic search.
The rest of the room was sparse. The faded wallpaper was not masked by any photos or furniture, except a badly repaired chair and a dishevelled bed, the proof of one too many restless nights. Everything the boy owned could fit in the trunk being unceremoniously emptied and no effort was made to make the room feel like home. Then again, the place this boy considered home was further away than it had ever been at the moment.
Sending another book flying in a way that would have scandalized a certain school librarian, he took a shirt out of the trunk. Just as he was about to throw it on the bed with the rest, a high-pitched hoot stopped him in his tracks. Looking up, Harry Potter pushed back his glasses on his nose and found himself facing an offended Owl with a shirt covering a good part of her cage.
"Sorry, Hedwig. I just can't find that damn stone." He said, pushing on the bed to help himself up.
As he removed the shirt from its precarious position, his eyes caught sight of a small parchment note with thin and slanted writings. This letter was both the source of all his problems and the salvation he had waited for all summer. He barely believed it when Hedwig delivered it to him three days ago. Even though he already knew it by heart now, he couldn't help himself to read it one more time. Dumbledore was going to come and pick him up personally tonight.
Finally, after an entire year, he had decided to stop ignoring him and give him some answers. About the war and Voldemort. About what Sirius was doing and why he himself, the greatest wizard of our time, refused to even look him in the eyes for so long. Sure, if the last year taught him something, it's the necessity of keeping some secrets to yourself but...
Harry was dragged out of his musing when the light at the corner of his eyes died suddenly. Staring through the window, he could barely see the street bathed in darkness.
"Did the lamp posts just die?" Harry asked, looking at Hedwig for confirmation, only for the bird to look right back at him with her head tilted.
Unsure of what was happening, Harry peered once again into the night, trying to discern anything unusual or dangerous. It wouldn't be the first time an attacker found his way to his relatives' house. He was about to give up and go back to his search when a tall silhouette in a flowing cape appeared from behind the neighbour's hedge and made its way toward the house.
"Crap. He's already here." Harry realized.
Harry turned in a hurry, throwing his scattered belongings back into the trunk. Robes, tomes, a bag of crisps, half-finished essays, a strange-looking helmet and other items flew into the room, disturbing the night bird once again. Making sure her displeasure was known, Hedwige hooted loudly and flapped her wings in the confines of her cage. As if remembering the presence of his friend, Harry closed his trunk and took hold of the cage before opening the window.
"Sorry girl, I lost track of time. We're getting out of here. Wait for me at Padfoot's place alright? I'm sure he'll have a few treats for you."
He opened the cage's door and Hedwig gave his hand a last nudge with her head before spreading her wings and taking flight into the night. He stayed there for a moment, his eyes stuck on the white dot getting smaller in the distance, not unlike a moving star in the darkness of space. He stood there, mesmerized, until he heard the doorbell ring. He really should get going. Closing the window, Harry turned and started running.
Bolting out of his room as fast as he could, he thanked whatever deity or powers that may be that the locks weren't closed yet. Harry managed to get to the stairs before he saw Uncle Vernon in a red dressing gown already opening the door. The large man was muttering under his breath about birds and uncivilized hours to disturb good people.
The door opened to reveal a tall figure draped in a black travel cape and purple robes. Half-moon spectacles, a white beard cascading down to his waist and an agreeable smile on an impossibly old face left no place for doubt as to the guest's identity. The headmaster had arrived.
"Good evening. You must be Mr. Dursley. Judging by your apparent surprise, Harry did not warn you of my arrival." Dumbledore said in a pleasant tone.
Surprise was a mild way to put it. As he got down the stairs, Harry saw the look on his uncle's face as he backed away from the door. His eyes were trying to push out of their orbits as all colours drained from his face. His ears quickly began to regain a red tint though, announcing the storm brewing inside that Harry would much prefer to avoid.
"But let us pretend that you invited me inside. I fear these troubled times are not suited to enjoy an evening talk on the porch."
With a quickness betraying his age, Dumbledore stepped inside the house and closed the door behind him. Doing so allowed him to notice Harry and a smile grew on his face as he looked him straight in the eyes.