Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Maybe this is how Chapter 1 could have gone...

Chapter 1
Privet Drive’s Secret

The harsh summer breeze lashed through the trees that lined the homes on Privet Drive. The boiling summer heat that the residents had experienced just a few years ago had vanished. This year all over the neighborhood, and through all of England for that matter, residents were hibernating in their homes. All across the countryside the rumbling of furnaces blazing to fight the strange cold could be heard echoing in the near silence of the streets.
Every night on Privet Drive cats, birds, and other creatures who dared to brace the cold weather witnessed the same routine: The businessmen and women on Privet Drive rushed home from their jobs bundled up in scarves, gloves, and hats and scurry into their homes in a matter of seconds attempting to avoid the cold. The jingling of keys and locking of doors could be heard as residents secured every lock and window to keep the cold out. Yet it was a losing battle, for this was not a normal type of cold that any man could seem to keep out.
But in the brilliant moonlight of that night, if one were looking, they would have seen one window quietly creek open on the top floor of Number 4. Just inside that window, a skinny, black haired boy sat shivering by the windowpane attempting to push a white snowy owl out the window into the night.
“Come on, Hedwig.” He said nudging her along, “Just this last letter to Ron. Before I head to The Burrow. Come on, I promise.”
Hedwig looked at the boy and begrudgingly stepped down onto the windowpane. But before flying out into misty night, she turned and nipped at the boy’s hand just as a reminder to keep his promise. Harry Potter watched as his beautiful owl’s wings shimmered against the moonlight.
It had been two weeks since Harry had last convinced Hedwig to bear the cold. Its not as though she wasn’t use to it, what with the snowy weather during the winter months at Hogwarts, but this cold---this cold was different. Not the typical cold that a scarf and mittens could protect you from. This cold was something else.
Harry’s Aunt and Uncle, who like all Muggle folks, had dismissed the cold as “Fluke weather.” And “Typical ruddy weather to spoil the holiday.” But Harry, and most of the Wizarding World, knew the truth. For this wasn’t a normal cold wave that had hit, this had something to do with Lord Voldemort. For, this last year Harry had watched as Lord Voldemort had gained power, the Death Eaters, the Dementors, the Dark Mark hovering over Hogwarts, and--- Dumbledore.
All of the terrible thoughts that flooded Harry’s dreams came to his mind: Being frozen with his father’s invisibility cloak over him, Draco Malfoy standing there attempting to kill an already wounded Dumbledore, and then Professor Snape bursting up to the tall tower pointing his wand at Dumbledore and shouting “Avada Kadavra.”
Harry felt his hand unknowingly begin to grip on to his wand in anger but remembered that there was nothing he could do, at least for now. Snape had run away with the other Death Eaters and had taken Malfoy. And since Dumbledore’s death there had been no word from Hogwarts. No word as to what would happen to the students, if it were even safe to go back to Hogwarts. Not that it mattered, because Harry knew that he wasn’t going back. Just this past year, Harry had learned that he was the one, the only one who could bring the Dark Lord down. This year, Harry was ready to face his fate and bring down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Yet he had promised Dumbledore that he would remain in the “care” of his aunt and uncle, because of the spells and enchantments Dumbledore himself had put on the house. Harry remembered how amusing it was seeing The Dursley’s reactions to having someone so “un-Dursleyish” in the home as Dumbledore. Harry woke up from the safety of his memories and felt his body go cold. He quickly shut the window and noticed Hedwig was out of site.
Harry heard the familiar rumble of the furnace from the basement kick in followed by the rumble of his own stomach. He walked out of his room and down the stairs. Just before he reached the bottom steps he heard the television from the living room.
“In related news,” the newsreader recited, “Another series of abnormal behavior has been captured on CCTV. This footage you’re watching shows a man in a dark colored cloak suddenly appearing near the Tower Bridge in London. If you watch closely you’ll see he’s pulling something from behind his cloak that appears to be a thin knife like object. Just out of shot we can see the bobby on guard fall over apparently stabbed. However, according to autopsy reports acquired by Channel 2, the coroner detailed that there were no stab wounds, and the bobby appears to have died of shock.
“London officials aren’t commenting on this peculiar scene, but they are saying the man in the cloak may also be involved in the overturned buses in Kent earlier this week. The Prime Minister, had this comment to make, ‘While the current state of the nation seems uneasy, I urge everyone to rest assured that we have contacted the--- proper guard to assist in defending the good people of Britain.’
“As for other news, the weather…”
Harry continued down the stairs, stepping lightly on the third step, knowing its tendency to squeak. “Absolute rubbish.” Uncle Vernon bellowed from beneath his pile of blankets and scarves, “Ruddy lot of weirdos running around the country, these days.”
Harry could hear Aunt Petunia respond with the typical stirring of sugar into her tea. As of late, or that is since last year upon Dumbledore’s visit to the Dursely’s, Aunt Petunia had held her tongue much more than she had in the past when it came to anything having to do with “weirdoes.” Harry leaned forward and saw Aunt Petunia pull her scarf tightly around her neck. As Harry looked over she caught glimpse of him and gave out a start. “You there. What are you doing here---Where’s Dudders?”
“I’m just listening to the news.” Harry heard.
“Where’s my Dudders?” she said in a voice that sounded far more demanding.
“I—“ Harry started in, but the usual sound of Dudley cursing at his computer games was heard. Aunt Petunia returned to stirring her tea and ignoring Harry.
Harry walked toward the kitchen where he hopped to find some of the leftovers that the Dursley’s had eaten for dinner that evening.


***
Soon the news was coming to a close. Uncle Vernon had now become completed covered in afghans and quilts and now resembled something of a small hill with a face peaking out.
“What the blazes is someone doing walking in this cold?”
Harry and Aunt Petunia glanced over to the large bay window to see who Uncle Vernon was looking at. But as they turned they saw the person turn up the walkway toward Number 4.
“Vernon!” Petunia let out a shriek as she jumped behind Mr. Dursley. “It’s them!”
Uncle Vernon stood up, causing the mountain of afghans and quilts to fall to the ground. Mr. Dursley jumped up and moved quickly around the settee. Uncle Vernon hoisted up his shotgun in his hands.
“Oh I’m ready for the weirdoes now.” Harry was reminded of the gun that Hagrid had bent it nearly 6 years ago. Who could it possibly be? Harry knew that Dumbledore had ensured his protection if he remained with the Dursley’s.
But just as Vernon held the gun up, there was a loud crack from behind the front door, and then a beam of silverfish colored light shone through the keyhole. Petunia let out a shriek. The door had opened, and there crouched over where the keyhole would have been was a man with a large budging eye that shimmered in that eerie shade of silver amidst the evening sky.
“Right, Harry. What are you looking at?” the man said as he looked over at Uncle Vernon once with his regular eye, and then again with his Magical eye.
“What the hell are you doing here you, you—you--weirdo.” Mr. Dursley said sounding a bit afraid, “We haven’t laid a finger on him.”
“I know you haven’t. Arabella’s been watching you with Mr. Tibbles.”
“Who the---“
But just at that moment Harry and the Dursley saw the large grayish cat that was standing just behind Moody come into clear site. The cat stared at Mr. Dursley. Mr. Dursley let out a start, “Don’t you bring that beast in here, or I’ll use this.” He motioned toward his gun, which he was holding upside down.
“Harry. There you are. Get your things we’re going.”
Harry walked back to the stairs, and wanted to run up and grab his trunk, but he remembered that just three years ago the person he thought was Mad Eye Moody had turned out to be an imposter.
“Ay. I see you’re wondering if I’m the real one.”
“Well I,” Harry said trying to sound trusting.
“I picked you up here two years ago the same way. The others will be here shortly. Tonks should.”
There was a large crack from behind the kitchen. Aunt Petunia ran behind Uncle Vernon.
“Hey there Harry.” Came a sweet sounding voice from the kitchen. The person moved in toward the hallway, exposing her brilliant pink hair.
“Tonks!” Harry said as he moved toward her. “Is Lup—“
“No, the old wolf ain’t coming tonight, just me and old Mad Eye. Oh—sorry I mean Moody.”
“You can’t lay a finger on him!” Uncle Vernon chirped.
“Harry, you have your things?” Tonks said ignoring Mr. Dursley.
“Yeah, I haven’t packed up, but I can—What is it?’ Harry asked looking over a Moody. Moody was looking at Aunt Petunia.
“Oh never mind that. Nymphadora,” Moody said trying to tuck the letter under his cloak, “Gather Harry’s things. Harry you stay with me. “
“Anything special you got hidin’ up in your room Harry?” Tonks asked.
“No, everything should be in my trunk.”
Harry could see from where he was standing on the stairs that Moody was holding an envelope. And from his distance Harry could just make out that it was addressed in green, curly writing.
“Who is that from?” Harry asked with a breath of hope.
“Ay. It’s from Dumbledore.”
“But he’s—“