"Those who have mastered Legilimency are able, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly." For Iris Potter, these words defined her whole life. Born with a natural talent for Legilim...
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In early August, the hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to a close and a drowsy silence lay over the large, square houses of Privet Drive. Cars that were usually gleaming stood dusty in their drives and lawns that were once emerald green lay parched and yellowing: the use of hosepipes had been banned due to drought. Deprived of their usual car-washing and lawn-mowing pursuits, the inhabitants of Privet Drive had retreated into the shade of their cool houses, windows thrown wide in the hope of tempting in a nonexistent breeze. The only people left outdoors was the occasional child riding their bike.
In Number Four of Privet Drive, locked away in a small bedroom on the second floor was a teenage boy. He was a skinny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who had the pinched, slightly unhealthy look of someone who has grown a lot in a short space of time. His jeans were torn and dirty, his T-shirt baggy and faded, and the soles of his trainers were peeling away from the uppers. Harry Potter's appearance did not endear him to the neighbours, who were the sort of people who thought scruffiness ought to be punishable by law
It didn't matter at that moment though, as he was being confined to his room after being attacked alongside his cousin, Dudley, by Dementors, performing a patronus charm, getting expelled from Hogwarts — and then un-expelled in favour of a court hearing — and then stashed away out of sight for the next three days. Harry was alternately filled with a restless energy that made him unable to settle to anything, during which time he paced his bedroom, furious at the whole lot of his extended family for leaving him to stew in this mess; and with a lethargy so complete that he could lie on his bed for an hour at a time, staring dazedly into space, aching with dread at the thought of the Ministry hearing.
Then, of course, there was the other matter, but he didn't want to think about that. Harry was sure he would explode if he even tried to think about it, so he focused more on everything else.
On the fourth day after being attacked, with still no word from Remus, Sirius, Ron, or Hermione, Harry was getting increasingly more frustrated and angry with everyone. That evening, Uncle Vernon had come to his room, announcing that he, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were going out and would be back later. Harry had no particular feeling about the Dursleys leaving. It made no difference to him whether they were in the house or not. He could not even summon the energy to get up and turn on his bedroom light. The room grew steadily darker around him as he lay listening to the night sounds through the window he kept open all the time, waiting for the blessed moment when Hedwig returned, hopefully with some form of news.
The empty house creaked around him. The pipes gurgled. Harry lay there in a kind of stupor, thinking of nothing, suspended in misery.
Then, quite distinctly, he heard a crash in the kitchen below.
He sat bolt upright, listening intently. The Dursleys couldn't be back, it was much too soon, and in any case, he hadn't heard their car.
