Chapter 49: Unwelcome Surprise
Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 49: Unwelcome Surprise
The car was elegant, sleek, and immaculate...a vintage black saloon from the early nineties with leather seats that smelled of polish and wealth.
Harry sat in the back, his trunk beside him, his hands clenched in his lap. The leather was cold against his fingers, but he barely noticed.
Remus Lupin drove in silence, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. His hands rested lightly on the steering wheel.
He gave no indication of being troubled by the silence, no sign that he felt the weight of Harry's eyes boring into the back of his head.
Harry studied him. This was Remus Lupin...a man he had known from another world, another story. In that story, Lupin had been kind, gentle, and fiercely loyal to Harry's parents. He had been a friend, a mentor, a protector.
This version of Lupin was none of those things.
He was cold, clinical, and distant. His sharp eyes occasionally flicked to the rearview mirror, but there was no warmth in them.
His face was impassive with no hint of the gentle smile that had once comforted a young boy on a train.
Harry's mind was racing as the car moved through the streets of London.
'Why would the Auror Department send someone to pick me up? Why couldn't the Durleys come themselves?'
He had asked Lupin that very question after being approached at the station.
Lupin's response had been brief and professional: "Your aunt and uncle were unable to come. I was sent to retrieve you and bring you to their home."
The answer sounded too rehearsed...too polished. It felt like a line he had been told to recite.
So Harry pressed further. "Why would they send an Auror? They don't even know any Aurors. They're Muggles."
Lupin's tone had then flickered into something more threatening. "The Ministry takes the safety of magical students seriously, Mister Potter. Your family's home is a secure location, and we wanted to ensure you arrived without incident."
It was a lie. Harry could feel it.
The words were smooth, but they lacked substance. They were the kind of words that had been carefully crafted to sound official, to sound reassuring, but they rang hollow in Harry's ears.
He tried again, his voice more insistent. "Who sent you? Was it Dumbledore?"
Lupin's expression did not change. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but that was the only reaction. "We will discuss everything once we arrive at your home. For now, I suggest you remain quiet and dont make a scene."
Harry could see the tip of his wand poking from the sleeve of his suit and understood the threat.
This was not an option.
Harry fell silent after and complied with the auror and got in the car, but his mind was churning.
This was wrong. Something was very wrong.
What concerned him the most was not his own safety but to learn what happened to the Durleys. If the Ministry had come after him, then it must have also come into contact with them.
And he knew how little this administration cared about muggles. Just like the one in power, they view Muggles as insects and Muggleborns as second-class citizens who need to be controlled.
"We will arrive in a few minutes, Mister Potter," Remus spoke for the first time since their car ride started.
"Ok..." Harry's response was short. He knew it was pointless to ask this person for more questions.
Whoever Remus Lupin had once been...the one before him was not that man.
His fingers moved slowly to the object hidden under his clothes.
He had at least managed to do one thing before leaving the station. As Lupin had loaded his trunk into the car, Harry had surreptitiously slid his wand from the bag and tucked it into his jacket, hidden beneath his robes.
He had no idea if he would need it, but he felt safer knowing it was there.
The familiar weight of the holly wood against his chest was a small comfort in the face of the growing unease.
The car journey took only fifteen minutes in total.
To Harry, it felt like hours.
He watched the familiar streets of Little Whinging pass by...the neat houses, the manicured lawns, the identical hedges.
Everything looked the same as it had when he left. But it felt different now for some reason.
There was something in the air that was not there before. It was subtle, but Harry could feel it.
He saw the corner shop where Dudley used to buy sweets. He saw the park where they had played football on lazy summer afternoons.
He saw the row of identical houses, each one a copy of the last, each one hiding its secrets behind closed curtains.
And then they turned onto Privet Drive.
Harry became more nervous as the number four came into view. He could see the familiar silhouette of the house. The neat garden, the white windows, the blue front door.
Vernon's car was parked in the driveway, its familiar green body gleaming in the afternoon sun. That was good. That meant they were home.
But as Harry stepped out of the car, he noticed something that made his blood run cold.
The front door was slightly ajar.
The Dursleys never left the door open. His uncle Vernon was obsessive about security.
This was a very bad sign... someone was in there.
Harry did not bother to grab his belongings from the back seat. He almost jumped out of the car and hurried towards the door, his heart pounding in his chest.
Lupin did not attempt to stop him, did not call out. He simply followed behind him at a measured pace, as if he had expected this reaction.
Harry pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"Aunt Petunia?" he called out, his tone tense. "Uncle Vernon? Dudley?"
Silence.
The house was quiet...too quiet.
The clock on the wall ticked, its rhythm echoing in the hall.
A cup of tea sat on the coffee table, cold and untouched. The television was off. The curtains were drawn.
Harry hurried into the living room.
And then he saw them.
Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley sat on the sofa, their backs straight, their eyes closed.
They were immobile, frozen in place like statues.
Petunia's hands were folded in her lap. Vernon's head was tilted back against the cushion. Dudley's body was limp, lying on the couch.
Harry's blood turned to ice. His breath caught in his throat. He felt his legs go weak.
The worst ideas came to mind. Things that he wished he never had to think about.
"Aunt Petunia!" he shouted, rushing to her side. He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her gently. "Aunt Petunia! Wake up!"
She did not wake up, no matter what. Her head lolled to the side, but her eyes remained closed.
Her skin was paler than what he remembered, her lips slightly parted.
His fingers moved to her neck.
"Oh..." Harry felt a rush of relief. There was a pulse...a weak one, but she was not dead.
She looked like she was in some deep trance.
He tried Vernon next, shaking his uncle's broad shoulders. "Uncle Vernon! Please! Wake up!"
Nothing. Vernon's chest rose and fell with shallow, rhythmic breaths, but there was no response.
He turned to Dudley, his hands trembling. "Dudley! Dudley, can you hear me?"
Dudley's head lolled to the side, but his eyes remained closed. He looked almost peaceful, but Harry knew that was a lie.
This was not a normal sleep. Someone had used magic on them.
And just then...a voice came from the kitchen and spoke the same thing he had been thinking.
"They won't wake up." The tone of the voice was calm, almost casual, and it made Harry's blood run colder than anything he had ever heard.
He spun around, searching for the source of the sound.
Two men emerged from the kitchen doorway.
Harry quickly recognized one of them, as his physical characteristics were too unique and impossible to miss.
He was a short, stocky man covered in scars. A magical eye spun wildly in its socket while the other eye, his real one, was fixed on Harry. His wooden leg thumped against the floor with each step.
Alastor Moody.
Beside him stood a thin, tall man with a gaunt face and a cruel, mocking smile.
He was eating a sandwich, no doubt made with ingredients stolen from their pantry, chewing slowly as he watched Harry with undisguised amusement.
His dark hair was slicked back, and his robes were expensive but withered and old, as if he had worn them for years without replacing them.
"Be grateful, lad. At least the muggles are alive," the thin man said, his voice dripping with false cheer. "For now, that is"
Harry glared at them.
Moody was an Auror...a legendary one, even in this twisted world. If he were here, that meant the Ministry was involved.
But why would the Ministry attack his family? What had they done?
"What..." Harry's voice cracked. "What did you do to them?"
"Relax, lad." The thin man took another bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly and deliberately. "They're just sleeping. A nice, long nap. They won't wake up for a few more hours. Plenty of time for us to have our little chat."
"Aye, behave yourself, boy." Moody held his wand in his right hand, loosely pointing it at him. "No need to escalate things."
Just then, he heard the front door of the house closing.
Remus Lupin had just entered while carrying his luggage and sealed the door shut behind him.
There was no escape...he was surrounded on both sides.
But it's not like he had planned on running away. Not without getting a proper explanation behind all of this.
Harry's hands curled into fists. His knuckles were white, his nails digging into his palms. "Why are you doing this? They haven't done anything wrong. They're Muggles. They don't know anything about-"
"But you do."
A new voice came from the stairs. There was a fourth person in the house.
But this voice was very familiar to him...he had been hearing it for the past nine months.
Harry looked up, and his blood turned to ice.
Albus Dumbledore was descending the staircase, his footsteps slow and deliberate.
His robes were deep crimson, not his usual white, and they seemed to absorb the light, making him appear darker, more menacing. His half-moon spectacles were absent, and his blue eyes were cold and threatening.
His grandfatherly smile was nowhere to be seen.
Harry took a step back. He could feel the Headmaster's anger from where he was.
This was not the kindly grandfather who had offered him lemon drops and spoken of the greater good.
This was the real Dumbledore...the tyrant, the manipulator, the murderer.
"Headmaster..." Harry's voice was barely a whisper.
"Hello, Harry." Dumbledore's voice was calm, almost gentle, but there was a steel edge beneath it. "I apologize for the dramatic entrance."
Harry opened his mouth to speak. "What are y-"
But was interrupted by Dumbledore's next words.
"You didn't truly think that you got away with it... didn't you?"
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