Take Time (a Harry Potter fan fiction)

Pt1 (Year 5) 1: Privet Drive/The Malfunctioning Map

I am not J.K. Rowling, I don't own Harry Potter, I'm not earning anything from this. Okay? Okay.

Temporibus Retroactis

Chapter One:
Privet Drive

[Al]

Albus Severus Potter wasn’t stupid.

He had common sense and, although he was not quite as clever as Rose Weasley, his cousin, he was regarded as fairly smart for a fifteen-year-old. He was pretty knowledgeable about the world in general. Being the son of two of the most famous war heroes, Al was fairly well-known in school. People had tried to deceive him into thinking that they were his friend before, just so that they could have a taste of the limelight. Al had therefore taken it upon himself to know when someone was lying. He didn’t use magic- he was sure Legilimency would be beyond him- but instead tried using Muggle psychology and body language (Al first heard of them while he was going to Muggle school as a kid). He was nowhere near an expert; but most of the time, he liked to think that he could tell if someone was trying to deceive him. He still used common sense a lot, though. For instance, if, during lunch, someone had told him that he would later be on a random street he had never seen before, Al would have used common sense and immediately decided that person was lying without even bothering to check his or her body language. Al certainly wouldn’t have trusted that person.

At this late hour, however, Al would have entirely believed them.

Because now, Albus Severus Potter was indeed standing on a random street he had never seen before.

Al tried to remember how he had gotten here. He thought back to where he had been. He had been doing homework in the Gryffindor common room. That was it. Everyone was chattering about the preparations for Halloween (which was exactly eight days later) and he had tried to block them out while doing his Charms essay. That was it. He was nowhere near- Al squinted at a sign in the distance- Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. It rang a bell in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t figure out why. At least he knew that he was still in England. Sure, he wasn’t in Godric’s Hollow or Hogwarts anymore, but at least he did not end up in Antarctica or somewhere like that.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. The street was lined with no-nonsense rectangular houses. They were uniform, which made Al think that the street was entirely Muggle. Wizards would never like houses like this. That and he couldn’t see any gnomes or magical plants growing.

But another concept disturbed him: night was falling and he had no place to stay. His parents guessing that he would wind up on Privet Drive of all places would be pure luck.

He vaguely wondered what his family would be doing as of the moment. He guessed Lily would be fussing in her sweet, innocent little girl who can blow you up in a moment’s notice manner about the whereabouts of Al, as would his Mum, Ginny. James wouldn’t care and think his brother finally had a change of heart and decide to see sense and become a prankster, who James always claimed Al was deep down, and was playing an elaborate scheme. Teddy had been in the Ministry last Al checked. Harry would be…Al didn’t know.

His environment provided a ready distraction. He continually observed the house nearest to him, which was apparently number six. It appeared as if the evening news was playing; the clock had stricken seven o’clock. The currently playing news was a load of claptrap about a water-skiing budgerigar called Bungy; Albus paid little attention to it. He pricked his ears for anything else, but the entire lane seemed to have tuned into the exact same program at the exact same time. This street was so stereotypical; it was unnerving.

Even more alarming was the crack which filled the air, similar to the sound one makes if he Apparates, as if on cue. Al reflexively dropped on his knees as he looked wildly around for any sudden arrivals. There was the sound of a little girl’s yelp from number two, a cat racing out from under its shelter under a parked car. Number four seemed to have the most intense reaction; there was a screech from what he assumed was an unpleasant woman, a holler originating from whom he presumed was an even more unpleasant man, and the sound of, maybe, a teacup breaking. His eyes darted to the quaint square house which had overreacted just in time for his eyes to land on a familiar frame which rose out of the hydrangeas; just an outline, really, of a slight build and unruly hair, as where he had heard the name Privet Drive before reverberated in his head.