A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

Harry was still filled with questions. Yet two weeks of dull life made him eager to return to the magical world, especially since Hermione gave him a compelling reason - to cast spells without reservations - he couldn't ask for more.

"I'll pack up immediately!" Harry exclaimed hastily.

The Dursleys were peering cautiously out the window, displaying caution and suspicion in their eyes.

"Who's she?" Uncle Vernon was the first to ask when Harry entered the hallway. He carefully eyed Hermione, who stood alone near the flower bed, unable to detect any flaws even with his scrutinizing gaze. "She's also - also from your school?"

"Yeah, that's right." Harry walked past them straight upstairs.

"Explain yourself! What's she here for - did you give our address to someone else?" Uncle Vernon aggressively followed, blocking the stairs in front of Harry, pointing and spluttering, "I don't know if we've given you the wrong impression, but - this house - I'll never allow it - to become - a freak show!"

"She has a name!" Harry retorted irritably. "Her name's Hermione, and she's not here to stay."

Ducking under Uncle Vernon's arm, Harry disregarded the rough tone. He was about to depart for somewhere else, a voice of joy humming within him.

Glancing around, he suddenly noticed the mess in his room - parchment papers, an ink bottle, and a few quills lay on the floor; unfinished Astronomy homework. The rickety bedside table piled with a small heap of candies, snack wrappers from the train partially torn, a half-bitten Chocolate Frog; and the scattered books he'd left lying around for the past two weeks, Hedwig's owl cage...

Luckily, Hermione hadn't followed him in. Harry couldn't help but think.

He sat on the bed, pulling out a trunk from beneath, cluttered with Muggle clothes and wizard robes. Dobby's socks, a gift, lay on top, conspicuously visible. For the next few minutes, Harry crammed the scattered books into the trunk, recalling where he'd placed each item.

The cupboard held snacks, comic books, and unused textbooks. The former consisted of a complete set of "Adventures of Mickey the Wizard" comics and a series by Gilderoy Lockhart - books Harry had wanted to dispose of. Lockhart, a fraud who gained fame by appropriating others' stories as his own, had even taught Defense Against the Dark Arts during Harry's second year before his misconduct was exposed, landing him in Azkaban prison.

Harry chuckled, feeling like he, Ron, and Hermione contributed to that downfall.

He opened the closet, bundled up the dirty clothes to fill the gaps in the trunk, then absentmindedly picked up a purple booklet lying by the pillow. As he glanced at the cover, he froze, fixated on the inscription:

"Survival Handbook during wartime - Ministry of Magic authorized publication: Protect your home and family from Dark Magic attacks."

Harry held his breath, delicately flipping to the fourth item - "Agree on safety code with friends and family to detect Death Eaters' use of Polyjuice Potion in impersonation (see page 2)."

His breath quickened, mouth parched.

Slowing his steps, Harry stealthily approached the window as if up to no good, quickly peeking outside - Hermione was gone.

Harry's mind went blank.

What was happening? Was Hermione fake? He swallowed hard, forcing himself to calm down.

Hermione unexpectedly showing up to take him somewhere wasn't really a big deal, given that he gave her the address... But someone should have informed him. Could it be that Sirius was too preoccupied and forgot about this? But Professor Lupin shouldn't have forgotten.

Harry felt he was overthinking. If Hermione were a Death Eater disguised, upon seeing him, she should've cursed him immediately instead of letting him go upstairs to pack... Yet, he couldn't shake off the doubt: what if the Death Eaters wanted him to willingly leave?

To stage an accident, making it harder for investigators afterward, suspicion would fall on the real Hermione.

"Agree on safety code with friends and family..." He hadn't even asked Hermione where they were going; his elation had clouded his judgment.

Polyjuice Potion... He had seen it before, but how to discern? He had no recollection.

Harry peeked out the window again. Hermione had returned and - she clearly spotted Harry on the second floor, smiling at him.

Where had she just been? Who had she spoken to?

Harry's heart raced.

Crookshanks - that was compelling evidence... Death Eaters couldn't administer Polyjuice Potion to animals. Hermione had received a lesson on that earlier, but Harry wasn't certain if it was Transfiguration, something he hadn't paid attention to.

Hurriedly carrying his trunk and cage downstairs, the cage bumping against the banister, Hedwig protested noisily. Right, Harry thought as he stood downstairs, he could ask someone if this was true.

But it seemed too late. If Hermione was truly a Death Eater in disguise, she wouldn't give him much time. Even a slight delay, and the Death Eaters and their allies might burst in at any moment.

Harry stood frozen in place, mind a whirl.

"Boy, what are you waiting for? No one wants to keep you here!" Uncle Vernon shouted from the living room, his voice overpowering the television program - "Goal! Leading 1-0."

Harry turned stiffly, looking at Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley, each engrossed in their own activities, seemingly normal. Strangely, Harry's inner turmoil surged; if he encountered danger, he could preemptively Disapparate, but that meant unknown risks for the Dursleys.

Like facing the wrath of angry Death Eaters.

But they weren't nice to him, Harry thought. He looked at the people in the living room as if reassessing them, judging them from a different perspective...

"No more ice cream." Dudley's chubby arms thumped the table.

"It's in the fridge, sweetheart." Aunt Petunia stacked the plates.

"I want chocolate-flavored! Choc-o-late!" Dudley loudly demanded.

"Alright, Diddy," Aunt Petunia indulged. She put down the half-set table and wiped her hands. "Mom will get it for you, go and come back quickly. You can have another piece of fried steak during this time—" she headed toward the door.

Harry stared at her, his heart tensing as her hand touched the doorknob.

"Don't go out," he said hoarsely.

Aunt Petunia turned, eyebrows quirking oddly, thin lips turning into a tight line, her once doting gaze swiftly cooling off.

"You haven't left yet." She said, turning back and twisting the doorknob forcefully.

"Don't go out!" Harry exclaimed. Suddenly, it seemed he regained his ability to move and stepped forward, pulling Aunt Petunia away from the door, drawing his wand.

The Dursleys screamed and jumped up. "Put - that thing - away!" Aunt Petunia exclaimed.

"How dare you!" Uncle Vernon thundered.

Harry ignored them, carefully concealing his wand up his sleeve as he peered outside through the window. The noise inside the house made its way out, evident as Hermione craned her neck, scanning the yard. Harry pushed the door open, the commotion audibly leaking outside.

Walking slowly out, Harry pondered Hermione's question, "What's up? Still not done packing?"

He hesitated, scratching his head, "I, uh... I just thought of something. Where are we going? Are we coming back?" He shrugged nonchalantly. "You know, I've got too much stuff, it's slow to pack."

"Oh," Hermione didn't suspect a thing. "I'm not sure. The professor asked me to come by seven. He said if I got here early, I could wait with you at Sirius's place."

That brought Harry some relief; at least she knew Sirius had a nearby rental.

Complaining, he muttered, "It's only five now. You've come way too early."

"Hmm," Hermione huffed. "I had to give you time to pack, and I haven't been here before. My parents were worried we'd get lost. Surprisingly..." she glanced toward the street corner.

"Parents?" Harry exclaimed.

"Yeah," Hermione nodded towards the corner, catching sight of a familiar car parked on the street. He recognized two distinct silhouettes. If his memory served him right, those should be Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

"You told me how unfriendly the Dursleys are," Hermione pursed her lips. "I think—if too many people gather at the door, it might cause trouble for you."

"Very considerate," Harry stuttered, all his doubts unraveled. Yet, he was now at a loss on how to explain things to the Dursleys. Nervously turning back, he glimpsed through the living room's large window, catching a glimpse of two figures huddled together, the round shapes contrasting with Aunt Petunia's almost skeletal appearance, as if Dudley had lent her some clothes.

For a moment, Harry stood bewildered. His open mouth closed shut. Waving a hand, he looked dejected.

"I'll go get my luggage," he said, his tone resigned.

Returning to the living room, the suitcases and birdcage lay undisturbed on the floor. The Dursleys crowded in one corner, mirroring the scene he observed from outside. Harry silently picked up the cage and grabbed the suitcase's handle, hoping... hoping that he could pretend none of this ever happened.

"Boy! Explain yourself, what trickery are you playing?" Uncle Vernon bellowed, attempting to shield Aunt Petunia and Dudley behind him, while glaring at Harry. But his attempt failed miserably. Anyone could see past him to the whale-like Dudley, squashed in the back.

Aunt Petunia, red-faced and almost breathless, was the one managing to speak.

"I... I misunderstood," Harry dryly replied. "The magical world isn't safe recently. I need to be careful. That person is back."

"Who are you talking about?" Uncle Vernon asked.

"Voldemort," Harry uttered in a hoarse voice. Let it go... stop prying... you don't know anything...

"Vold—what?" Uncle Vernon shook his head, trying to put on a contemplative look.

"He's back?" Penny Aunt whispered from behind, "That... murderer... he's back?"

Uncle Vernon glanced at his wife, then at Harry, a realization dawning on him, "I've heard that name before. He's the one—"

Who killed Harry's parents.

But nobody answered him.

Harry stared at Aunt Petunia, initially feeling perplexed, a hint of absurdity creeping in—the Voldemort, whom the magical world feared to mention by name, reduced to a mere murderer by a Muggle, especially a housewife. Yet, looking into Aunt Petunia's fear-stricken pale eyes, Harry hazily realized that in this room, more than just himself understood what Voldemort's return truly meant.

Aunt Petunia gave him a strange look, one she had never given him before. This made Harry immensely uncomfortable. The room's air seemed suffocating; he grabbed Hedwig's cage and his suitcase, swiftly exiting Number Four, Privet Drive.

"Let's go," Harry told Hermione, panting.

"What's wrong with you?" Hermione took Harry's cage; Hedwig, just manhandled, was now disoriented, her once bright and dignified amber eyes now vacant and irritated. She hooted angrily. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com

"Nothing," Harry replied.

"You look like you've just had a fight."

"I'll tell you on the way," Harry said.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger got out of the car, loading Harry's luggage in the trunk. "Thanks—I'll handle the cage," Harry blurted, flustered, joining Hermione in the backseat, almost squishing Crookshanks. Crookshanks jumped onto Hermione's lap, meowing sadly.

Harry didn't notice the Grangers, equally silent, harboring their own thoughts.

"Where to next?" Mr. Granger croaked.

"Just turn at the corner and keep going straight; it's very close," Harry replied, then heard a low sob.

Harry looked up, seeing Mrs. Granger wiping her eyes from the rearview mirror. The atmosphere inside the car seemed even more oppressive than Number Four, and Harry couldn't quite grasp what was happening. He only looked at Hermione, who shook her head slightly; her eyes were now red, too.

The car stopped in front of a red house.

Harry carried Hedwig's cage out of the car, then fetched their luggage from the trunk, heading toward the door. But there were no footsteps behind him. He turned around, seeing the Grangers tightly embracing their daughter.

Harry suddenly understood the eerie atmosphere in the car—Hermione's parents had known about Voldemort's return long ago, perhaps even witnessed the event. While he spent two boring weeks on Privet Drive, the Grangers carried an immense mental burden, worrying about their daughter.

Finally, Hermione separated from her parents. She watched as they got into the car, the car starting and disappearing around the street corner.

Hermione stood still, staring at where the car had vanished for a long time. Eventually, she wiped her eyes, dragging her suitcase toward Harry.

"Is this Sirius's rented house?" Hermione asked gloomily.

"Yes—Hermione, you can stay at home for two months," Harry gathered courage, "You're not like me—"

"Don't joke, Harry! Doing nothing after knowing the war is coming?" Hermione cut him off, her tone intense. "I don't want to die in a war."

These two chapters primarily focus on Harry's perspective, not as an authored plot. They serve to underscore the impact of the impending war, delineate the Dursley family, and set up Dudley, dropping a hint about his future. If anyone's interested, there's a puzzle regarding Dudley's future in these passages.

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