Story Timeline
Chapter I takes place the morning the Ministry discovers Harry gone (Halloween Day/Day One).
Chapter II also takes place the morning the Ministry discovers Harry gone, though a few hours after Chapter I (Halloween Day/Day One).
Chapter III takes place the night the Ministry discovers Harry gone (Halloween Night/Day One).
Chapter IV also takes place the night the Ministry discovers Harry gone, though an hour or so after Chapter III (Halloween Night/Day One).
Chapter V takes place the day before the Ministry discovers Harry gone (Hallow's Eve).

chapter V

lucidity

"Lily, it's him! Take Harry and go!"

Green light....

"James!"

Terrible laughter....

"Give the boy to me, and you will be spared...."

Vain yells....

"Please, take me instead, leave him alone...."

A shrill voice....

"Move aside, you silly girl...."

A dying invocation....

"Avada Kedavra!"

Pain, darkness...then nothing....

Harry Potter of Number Four Privet Drive woke in the darkness, brought his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms tightly around them, shivering in the cold. The October night was cool and his thin blanket didn't do much to keep him warm. He shuddered even more fiercely when flashes of his dream assaulted his mind yet again – dying screams, high-pitched laughter – and most abundant – green light. He was breathing hard, and muffled his panting by turning so that his face was buried into the ragged pillow. He missed his parents.

He fought hard to remember the vision of his mothers' face. She was very pretty, Harry knew, with blurred features, dark red hair that he had loved to grip when he was a baby. She had the same almond-shaped eyes he had, and was always so nice to him…. His father had had a deep voice, and always carried him around and played with him and kept him warm…. He missed them so much….

Uncle Vernon had given him a lot of yard work to do the day before, and his arms and back were still aching from all of it. He had painted the fence, weeded all of Aunt Petunia's dying flower beds, and raked the leaves. He had scrubbed the floors clean and dusted. Soon, Aunt Petunia had told him just the night before, he'd be old enough to mow the lawn and wash the dishes and laundry, too, then later cook. He wished he wouldn't have to, because he didn't like the work he was doing much as it was anyway and wasn't quite excited at the prospect of making that list even longer.

It was close to the time when Aunt Petunia would come to wake him up. He had found an old clock of Dudley's, one with its glass broken – his cousin had chucked against a door – had taken it without anyone noticing, and managed to fix it enough to work. It was six fifty in the morning.

He had already decided something important the night before though. He had thought about it hard as he was tugging weeds out of Number Four's flower beds. Today was the day he would finally ask Aunt Petunia about why everything had started looking so…blobby. His vision had been getting worse and worse by the day, until he realized that it couldn't have been normal, and started getting concerned.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, he heard his aunt stomping down the stairs, then pounding on the cupboard door, shrieking at him to get up. He did so, sighing, and pulled on a pair of Dudley's old jeans and a baggy shirt, trying not to hit his head in the cramped space. Harry left the cupboard, squinting as the sunlight pouring from the windows reached his eyes.

"Aunt Petunia," he said tentatively, as he entered the kitchen, watching her begin preparing breakfast for Dudley, though he couldn't quite make out what it was. How irritating this was becoming! "Er…I…My eyes are all funny…."

"What do you mean?" she snapped, not looking at him as she buttered the pan. "And comb your hair, for goodness sake, you miserable boy. What the neighbors must think when they see you…."

"Everything looks like…fuzzy," he explained, squinting at her, ignoring the comments on his hair. "S'not normal, is it? Am I going to go blind?"

Petunia turned the stove on before turning to glare at her nephew, taking in his straining eyes and crinkled nose, his unfocused expression. She remembered vaguely how that awful boy that she had married had worn thick glasses, and came to the exasperating conclusion that the boy would need glasses as well. "Vernon!"

Harry watched as another blob entered the room, this one much bigger than any of the other blobs he could see outlines of. "What's he done this time, Petunia?" He then automatically barked at Harry, "You need another haircut!"

"He can't see right," Aunt Petunia told his Uncle Vernon, now in the process of cracking eggs into the pan and adding salt. "He'll need glasses if he's to finish the housework by tonight, since Marge is coming."

Harry's little heart nearly stopped. "Aunt Marge is coming?" he squeaked. "Tonight?"

"Yes, she is," Uncle Vernon said, waddling in Harry's direction. "And you better not do any funny stuff, do you understand me, boy?"

"Yessir," he replied, voice hollow. The torture he would have to endure….

"Right then," Vernon said, in a way that would have surprised Harry if he wasn't still petrified in terror at the thought of his Aunt Marge, "We'll go to the nearest Goodwill store and see if they have anything for you." He must have cheered up at the thought of what Aunt Marge would put him through, Harry thought resentfully.

He finally snapped out of it when the smell of scrambled eggs reached his nose, and his stomach gave a hungry rumble. Harry watched as Aunt Petunia called Dudley downstairs again, set the table, and brought over the bacon and toast. Dudley came down – another significantly oversized blob in Harry's vision – and sat down on Harry's other side. "Morning, freak," the slightly older and grossly larger boy said with a yawn. "Morning Dad." He turned to his mother. "When's the food coming, mum, I'm starving!"

Aunt Petunia's face immediately turned into an expression of sappy love. "Coming right up, Diddykins," she simpered as she served Uncle Vernon, Dudley, and herself a plate full of eggs, sausages, bacon, and toast.

She then poured a glass of milk for the three of them, before turning to Harry and giving him a slice of burnt toast, and half of a sausage, along with a glass of lukewarm water. Harry didn't say anything; he was far too used to this treatment anyway, and was so hungry that he didn't even really notice how bad it tasted.

After breakfast, Harry waited quietly for his uncle to get dressed, and Uncle Vernon shoved him into the backseat of the company car beside Dudley before getting in to drive. "We're going up to London," Uncle Vernon explained to Dudley. Then, looking into the rearview mirror and meeting Harry's eyes (not that Harry could see enough to really notice), his tone changed into a spiteful one, and he said, "You're going to get your glasses, boy, while I take Dudley to get him some new clothes. No funny stuff."

Harry nodded at the second reminder, though he didn't quite understand what his uncle meant. He didn't bother asking – the first rule of the Dursley household was don't ask questions. He was never given an answer anyway, just locked into the cupboard for the remainder of the day, and even though Aunt Marge was coming that night, he didn't want to be locked up again.

When they finally arrived in London, Harry was already feeling miserable – Dudley had spent the whole way poking him in the arms, chest, and legs, and every once in a while smacking him on the head or back while giggling at Harry's flinches. Complaining to Uncle Vernon would hardly have solved anything, so Harry didn't bother trying.

"Here we are, boy," Uncle Vernon said, pulling up to the sidewalk on the busy street. "Get out, and get yourself some glasses. Tell them you don't have any money, and wait outside until we get back."

"Bye, Freak!" Dudley waved enthusiastically.

Harry got out of the car with trepidition, and closed the door with both hands. As soon as he did, Uncle Vernon drove away, tires screeching. It did occur to him more than once that Uncle Vernon might not come back for him, but he figured then that at least maybe if he went to an orphanage they would feed him better, or at least not call him names.

He turned to the Goodwill store, and found it to be as rather small little place. Carefully weaving his way to the entrance, he slowly went in and shut the door behind him.

"Hello, dear," a voice said behind him. Harry spun and looked up; there was a woman crouched beside him, looking at him with gentle eyes. "Are you lost?"

Harry paused for a moment, before shaking his head and looking down. "My uncle left me here. I needa get glasses, 'cause I can't see things."

The woman smiled at him sweetly, and reached out a hand to him. "Well, come on, dear, let's find you something. Are you hungry?"

Harry was very hungry, and said so. When the woman asked if he had eaten anything at all that day, he replied, "Yes, my aunt gave me the burnt toast." He looked around curiously as the woman led him to a chair, lifted him, and sat him down.

There were several articles of clothing hung around the small store, though none of them seemed very normal to Harry – at least, his uncle Vernon wouldn't dare approach any of them. Aunt Petunia might've liked them though, Harry thought, as they looked like colorful dresses or some sort or another, and secretly he felt that they were much better than the hideous frilly garments that his aunt chose to wear. A whole separate area showcased shoes, though most were boots that looked shiny and thick, laced up and hung on racks. There was large mirror in the middle of one wall, cracked and dirty, Harry supposed, since there were lots of dark – moving? – smudges on it. Before he could turn his attention to the silvery trinkets, of sorts that he could never recall before seeing, that littered a table in the back, the woman returned with a sandwich and a glass of juice, which Harry took gratefully and began to eat. The woman sat down, and waited for him to finish, watching him with a rather sad expression on her face.

"What's your name?" Harry asked between a mouthful. She was very pretty; brown hair that hung long around a heart-shaped face, and blue eyes that twinkled in the meager sunlight that happened to filter into the store.

"My name is Samantha Wood," she said, turning away from him and pulling out a box. She smiled at him. "What's yours?"

"Harry Potter," Harry replied, as he finished off his juice.

If possible, the woman looked even more upset than before. Her smile vanished, and she bit her lip as she sifted through the glasses. Harry wondered what could upset her about his name, of all things, but before he could ask, she said, "I knew your parents when they were younger." She was still looking away. "They were friends of my husband. They were good people. You father was very good at Quidditch."

Harry didn't know what to say in reply to that, so he stayed quiet, until the woman had found what she was looking for. Mrs. Wood turned to Harry, grasping a black case in her hand. Setting it down, she took out a pair of simple, round black-framed glasses, and after unfolding them, gently put them in place for Harry.

Suddenly, his vision focused. He could see clear outlines of things. No fuzziness. No uncertainty about what was what. He smiled brilliantly. No more walking into walls, he thought, so overjoyed he felt his little heart pulsing faster.

"There you are," Mrs. Wood said to Harry, smiling back at him again, all trace of sadness gone. "Those belonged to…a man who died a while back. You not only have the exact same vision as he did, but you look the same, too." She stood up, gracing Harry with a kiss on the forehead, before lifting him into her arms and carrying him as she went up a staircase that Harry hadn't even noticed. He glowed under the unexpected affection the woman showed to him and smiled up at her. Then again, he thought absently, staring close at the staircase, it had probably blended into the walls too well for him to distinguish without the glasses. He looked around over Mrs. Wood's shoulder with wide eyes.

"Oliver!" Mrs. Wood called. "Oliver, come here!"

With the sound of breaking china, a boy came skidding into Harry's view. He looked not much older than ten, had the same hair as his mother did, though an unquenchable curiosity in his eyes made his whole countenance appear different. The boy looked at Harry interestedly.

"Oliver," Mrs. Wood said, "this is Harry. Could you watch him for a bit till his uncle comes to pick him up?"

The boy nodded cheerfully as his mother put Harry down on the floor beside him, and left. Harry stared at the boy before the other began to talk to him excitedly. He mentioned broomsticks and magic, Harry understood, and knew that if he repeated any of the same words his aunt and uncle would be horrified. The thought made him smile.

"What's your favorite Quidditch team?" Oliver asked, finally stopping his chatter to ask Harry a question.

"Er…" Harry looked uncomfortable at the slightly frantic look in the older boy's eyes. "I dunno what Kuhditch is."

Oliver jaw slackened and he stared at Harry incredulously. "You don't know what Quidditch is?" At the shake of Harry's head, Oliver straightened and fisted his hands. "Come on! I'm going to teach you all about Quidditch!"

lucidity

end

A/N: Mrs. Wood. Right. Somehow had to connect it to another character, so there we have it. I know in book 4 it mentions Wood dragging Harry to meet his parents before the Cup. And to let you know after book 5 – this still fits as a canon-line fic. Not meant to be AU – you'll see how that all works out =9

Got a good funny chapter coming up soon though, eventually – whoever guesses who the character of that chapter will be by the title "the master overlord" gets to choose a character as obscure as they want to have a feature chapter with. For fun.

Jedi Cosmos