4 Privet Drive

I know Harry had all that protection on his home at the Dursleys when Voldemort returned, but did Hermione have protection on her own home? And if not, why didn't Voldemort come after her. I think it would of been smarter for him to go after the person who is the main reason he survived as far as he did before and after Voldemort came back. I just wonder.

Looking out of your bedroom door in London at 3:00am in the mornin and seeing this magnificent creature

“Lily, take Harry while I fend against the Dark Lord!” James Potter said. “Okay, James!” Lily replied. “AVADA KEDAVRA!” James exclaimed. Lord Voldemort’s corpse crashed to the ground. James gets out of his house. “James? I heard you cast the killing curse on the Dark Lord and his body crashing to the ground. Are you OK?” Lily asked. “Yes, Lily. I’m OK!” James replied. “I thought he cast it on you. I was so scared!” Lily says. “NOOOOOO!!!” Bellatrix exclaims upon entering James and Lily’s house (Delphi enters with use of a Time-Turner) “I’m the daughter you’ll now never have, Delphini Riddle, I came from the timeline where Lily and James are dead. I was conceived in Malfoy Manor in the mid-to-late 1990s as the result of a liaison between you and Lord Voldemort. On the 2nd of May, 1998, during the Battle of Hogwarts that will now never happen, you and him were murdered. You — were murdered by Molly Weasley, and Dad in the timeline I’m from was killed by Harry.” Delphini explains. “AVADA KEDAVRA!” Lily casts the Killing curse on Bellatrix. “James! Delphi’s time turner’s spinning! We need to get out of range of any injury!” Lily says, urgently. “Follow me with Harry, Lily!” James says. Aromatic butterbeer can be smelt from the Three Broomsticks inn. “In here.” James says. “How’d we get to Hogsmeade?’ Lily inquires. “I don’t know..?” James replies. “James? Lily? You’re alive?” Molly says, confused. “Yup, James killed Voldemort.” Lily says. Pandora Lovegood, Xenophilius Lovegood and Luna Lovegood (Luna is currently aged 7) enter, Luna had a bottle of water. “Lily? James? You’re alive?” Pandora, Xenophilius and Luna say, confused, altogether. “Yep, James killed Voldemort.” Lily says. Lily replies. “Lily? You wanna, y’know, hang out?” Snape asks. “Sev! I really wanna hangout! I don’t s’pose you were hoping to go home to see something?” Lily replies, enthusiastically. “Lily? I thought the Dark Lord killed you…” Molly says, confused. “It’s the other way ‘round, Molly.” Lily replies. “Mum? It’s my letter! It arrived. Dad told me.” Bill Weasley says. “Bill! Thanks for letting me know!” Molly replies. Back at the Burrow, Bill reads his letter. “Mum, Dad, can you take me to Diagon Alley to get my stuff?” Bill asks. “I‘ll have to, Bill, because your mum needs to have an ultrasound at St. Mungo’s.” Arthur replies. “Why?” Bill asks, to which Arthur replies, “We think you might be getting a sibling!” On 1 September, Molly, baby Charlie, Bill and Arthur are at Platform 9 ¾. “Bye, Bill!” Molly and Arthur say as Bill gets on the Hogwarts Express. “Bye, Mum, Dad and Charlie!” Bill replies. Bill’s at Hogwarts now, and he’s just been sorted into Gryffindor. “James, while Sev and I were hanging out, he told me that you, Peter, Remus and Sirius bullied him in our time at Hogwarts. We are THROUGH!” Lily says. “LILY J. EVANS! I SAVED YOU FROM VOLDEMORT!! HOW DARE YOU DIE OUR RELATIONSHIP!?” James says. “Here’s my ring. James Potter. I’ve signed all the divorce paperwork.” Lily says. James replies with, “Okay. Lily Evans. I have now signed it as well. Take it back to your filthy Mudblood lawyer. You can date Snivellus. Farewell.” Snape comes in. “Lily, I heard you and James “Prongs” Potter have divorced..? Wanna go on a date?” Snape says. “Since Petunia went to Hogwarts with me, she can babysit Harry. So, yes, Sev!!” Lily replies. “Lily ! Hi!!” Petunia says. “Can you look after Harry while Sev and I go out for dinner please?” Lily asks. “Of course, Lily!!” Petunia replies. Meanwhile, at Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, Severus and Lily share a cup of tea and a cake. “So, Lily, what should we do now?” Severus asks. “Well, I really should get back to Harry, it’s going to be his bedtime soon. Bye, Sev!” Lily says. “Bye, Lily!” Severus says. Lily arrives back at Number Four, Privet Drive, to pick Harry up soon after.

Previous story, and recap of year three.

Tags: @Diantha Angelina Black @MeowTasticCat @Bellatrisblack

Because neither Harry or any of his friends are in the canonical chapter one, my re-write version would play out near identically and so I will be skipping it, but if anyone needs a recap a good one can be found here: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Harry_Potter_and_the_Goblet_of_Fire?so=search#Chapter_1:_The_Riddle_House

Chapter One: The Scar

Harry lay flat on his back, breathing hard as though he had been running. He had awoken from a vivid dream with his hands pressed over his face. The thirteen year old scar on his forehead, which was shaped like a thin bolt of lightning, was burning beneath his fingers as though someone had just pressed a white-hot wire to his skin. He sat up, one hand still on his scar, the other reaching out in the darkness for his glasses, which were on the bedside table. He put them on and his bedroom came into clearer focus, lit by a faint, misty orange light that was filtering through the curtains from the street lamp outside his window at 4 Privet Drive.

Harry ran his fingers over the scar again. It was still painful. He turned on the lamp beside him, scrambled out of bed, crossed the room, opened his wardrobe, and peered into the mirror on the inside of the door. A skinny boy of fourteen looked back at him, his bright green eyes puzzled under his untidy black hair. He examined the lightning-bolt scar of his reflection more closely. It looked normal, but it was still stinging.

Harry tried to recall what he had been dreaming about before he had awoken. It had seemed so real...There had been two people he knew and one he didn’t...He concentrated hard, frowning, trying to remember...The dim picture of a darkened room came to him...There had been a snake on a hearth rug...a small man called Peter, nicknamed Wormtail...and a cold, high voice...the voice of Lord Voldemort. Harry felt as though an ice cube had slipped down into his stomach at the very thought...

He closed his eyes tightly and tried to remember what Voldemort had looked like, but it was impossible...All Harry knew was that at the moment when Voldemort’s chair had swung around, and he, Harry, had seen what was sitting in it, he had felt a spasm of horror, which had awoken him...or had that been the pain in his scar? And who had the old man been? For there had definitely been an old man; Harry had watched him fall to the ground. It was all becoming confused. Harry put his face into his hands, blocking out his bedroom, trying to hold on to the picture of that dimly lit room, but it was like trying to keep water in his cupped hands; the details were now trickling away as fast as he tried to hold on to them...Voldemort and Wormtail had been talking about someone they had killed, though Harry could not remember the name...and they had been plotting to kill someone else...him!

Harry took his face out of his hands, opened his eyes, and stared around his tiny bedroom as though expecting to see something unusual there. As it happened, there were an extraordinary number of unusual things in this room, though perhaps not unusual to him. His wardrobe contained long flowing robes along with more common british attire. His small desk, which doubled as a bookshelve, was full of spell books, rolls of parchment littered much of his desk that was not taken up by the large, empty cage in which his snowy owl, Hedwig, usually perched. On the floor beside his bed a book lay open; Harry had been reading it before he fell asleep last night. The pictures in this book were all moving. Athletes in bright orange robes were zooming in and out of sight on broomsticks, throwing a red ball to one another.

Harry walked over to the book, picked it up, and watched one of the wizards score a spectacular goal by putting the ball through a fifty-foot-high hoop. Then he snapped the book shut. Even Quidditch—in Harry’s opinion, the best sport in the world—couldn’t distract him at the moment. He placed Flying with the Cannons on his bedside table, crossed to the window, and drew back the curtains to survey the street below.

Privet Drive looked exactly as a respectable suburban street would be expected to look in the early hours of a Wednesday morning. All the curtains were closed. As far as Harry could see through the darkness, there wasn’t a living creature in sight, not even a cat.

And yet...and yet...Harry went restlessly back to the bed and sat down on it, running a finger over his scar again. It wasn’t the pain that bothered him; Harry was no stranger to pain and injury. He had nearly died by the touch of a cursed man. He had lost all the bones from his right arm once and had them painfully regrown in a night. The same arm had been pierced by a venomous foot-long fang not long afterward. Only last year Harry had fallen fifty feet from an airborne broomstick. He was used to bizarre accidents and injuries; they were unavoidable if you attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and had a knack for attracting a lot of trouble.

No, the thing that was bothering Harry was that the last time his scar had hurt him, it had been because Voldemort had been close by...But Voldemort couldn’t be here, now...The idea of Voldemort lurking in Privet Drive was absurd, impossible...

Harry listened closely to the silence around him. Was he half-expecting to hear the creak of a stair or the swish of a cloak? And then he jumped slightly as he heard his cousin Dudley give a tremendous grunting snore from the next room.

Harry shook himself mentally; he was being stupid. There was no one in the house with him except ugly Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley, and they were plainly still asleep, their dreams untroubled and painless.

Asleep was the way Harry liked the Dursleys best; it wasn’t as though they were ever any help to him awake. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were Harry’s only living biological relatives. They were Muggles who hated and despised magic in any form, which meant that Harry was about as welcome in their house as dry rot. And yet Harry had to stay with them every summer for mysterious reasons his true guardians were reluctant to tell him. Oh how Harry wished to sleep in his own bed, and wake up to Remus' breakfast every day. But underage wizards aren't allowed to preform magic outside of school so he might as well be stuck in a boring muggle home. Harry was just lucky that when he needed to confide in someone he still had options outside of Privet Drive, he had a two-way enchanted mirror to talk to his adoptive family with, and an owl to send messages to his friends from school. But still he found himself hesitating to tell any of them about his scar hurting him, or about his worries about Voldemort.

It was because of Voldemort that Harry had such an odd living arrangement, living with the Dursleys in the summer, and his Godfather Sirius Black on other Hogwarts breaks. If it hadn’t been for Voldemort, Harry would not have had the lightning scar on his forehead. If it hadn’t been for Voldemort, Harry would still have his biological parents...

Harry had been a year old the night that Voldemort—the most powerful Dark wizard for half a century, a wizard who had been gaining power steadily for eleven years—arrived at his house and killed his father and mother. Voldemort had then turned his wand on Harry; he had performed the curse that had disposed of many full-grown witches and wizards in his steady rise to power—and, incredibly, it had not worked. Instead of killing the small boy, the curse had rebounded upon Voldemort. Harry had survived with nothing but a lightning-shaped cut on his forehead, and Voldemort had been reduced to something barely alive. His powers gone, his life almost extinguished, Voldemort had fled; the terror in which the secret community of witches and wizards had lived for so long had lifted, Voldemort’s followers had disbanded, and Harry Potter had become famous.

It had been enough of a shock for Harry to discover, not long after his eleventh birthday, that it had been him who defeated Voldemort; it had been even more disconcerting to find out that everyone in the hidden wizarding world knew his name. Harry had arrived at Hogwarts to find that heads turned and whispers followed him wherever he went. But he was used to it now: At the end of this summer, he would be starting his fourth year at Hogwarts, and Harry was already counting the days until he would be back at the castle again.

But there was still a fortnight to go before he went back to school. He looked hopelessly around his room again, and his eye paused on the many birthday cards his friends and adoptive family had sent him at the end of July. What would they say if Harry wrote to them and told them about his scar hurting?

At once, Allison Runcorn’s voice seemed to fill his head, often stoic but occasionally concerned. 'Your scar is hurting? Harry, this hasn't happened since You Know Who was on the back of Quirrell's head...You should be more careful...'

Yes, that would be Allison’s advice: Just try not to run into Voldemort, not like he hadn't been trying that for over three years now. Harry stared out of the window at the inky blue-black sky. Since Harry didn't quite know how he survived that night he didn't really know how to repeat it if he came into contact with a full powered Voldemort again.

Harry decided to try imagining on of his other close friends responces, Tracey Davis, and in a moment, Tracey’s deep dark skin and stunning brown eyes seemed to swim before Harry and could imagine what she would say easily. ‘This is very troubling, you should tell Dumbledore right away, he will surely know what to do...’

Harry considered this, informing the headmaster, but he had no idea where Dumbledore went during the summer holidays. He amused himself for a moment, picturing Dumbledore, with his long silver beard, full-length wizard’s robes, and pointed hat, stretched out on a beach somewhere, rubbing suntan lotion onto his long crooked nose. Wherever Dumbledore was, though, Harry was sure that Hedwig would be able to find him; Harry’s beloved owl had never yet failed to deliver a letter to anyone, even without an address. But what would he write?

“Dear Professor Dumbledore, Sorry to bother you, but my scar hurt this morning. Yours sincerely, Harry Potter.”

Even inside his head the words sounded stupid. Finally Harry tried to imagine advice from Theodore Nott. Theodore was a close friend of his and for over a year now had been fostered by Harry’s adoptive family, Theodore’s response was easy to imagine. ‘The scar is hurting again, but that is impossible. I will do some research to see if there is an explanation. Maybe you should try asking Moony and Padfoot, they might have an answer?’

Moony and Padfoot were old nicknames for Harry’s adoptive parents, Remus Lupin, and Remus’s husband/Harry’s Godfather Sirius Black. Remus might be one of the world most knowledgeable when it came to magical scars, but he had admitted to not knowing anything about Harry’s years ago. In any case, Harry didn’t like the idea of his whole family worrying over a few moments’ pain. Sirius would probably have him taken to St Mungo's Hospital and his adopted little sister Canini would probably ask him a hundred questions. With the stress of Remus getting outed to the wizarding world as a werewolf, Canini still mentally recovering from the battle she survived two months back, and everything else going on Harry just didn’t want to be a bother.

Harry kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. Despite not wanting to be a bother Harry decided he had to yell at least someone. He felt like he needed advice from an adult wizard who he could ask without feeling stupid, who had had experience with Dark Magic...

It was a simple choice, and despite his hesitancy he knew it was the right one—Sirius.

Harry got up out of bed, hurried across the room, and sat down at his desk; he pulled a piece of parchment toward him, loaded his eagle-feather quill with ink, wrote “Dear Sirius”, then paused, wondering how best to phrase his problem. Harry’s lamp seemed to grow dimmer as the cold gray light that precedes sunrise slowly crept into the room. Finally, when the sun had risen, when his bedroom walls had turned gold, and when sounds of movement could be heard from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia’s room, Harry cleared his desk of crumpled pieces of parchment and reread his finished letter.

“Dear Sirius,

I am writing you rather than using the mirror so that only you hopefully see this letter as I know Moony would probably panic if he saw it.

Things are the same as usual here. Dudley’s diet isn’t going too well. My aunt found him smuggling doughnuts into his room yesterday. They told him they’d have to cut his pocket money if he keeps doing it, so he got really angry and chucked his PlayStation out of the window. That’s a sort of computer thing you can play games on. Bit stupid really, now he hasn’t even got Mega-Mutilation Part Three to take his mind off things.

I’m okay, but something has happened and I want you to know about it. A weird thing happened this morning, my scar hurt again. Last time that happened it was because Voldemort was at Hogwarts. But I don’t reckon he can be anywhere near me now, can he? Do you know if curse scars sometimes hurt years afterward? I am also worried because right before this happened I had a horrible dream that I can’t quite explain.

Write back as soon as you can.

-Harry”

Harry thought it sounded good and he would send it off once Hedwig had returned from hunting. He was originally going to go in detail with what had been in the dream, but the last thing Sirius needed to know was that Harry was having nightmares about Voldemort and the treacherous Peter Pettigrew, it was probably just that, a dream. He folded up the parchment and laid it aside on his desk, ready for when Hedwig returned. Then he got to his feet, stretched, and opened his wardrobe once more. Without glancing at his reflection, he started to get dressed before going down to breakfast.

I've been trying to figure this our for such a long time which country is 4 privet drive located in? And platform nine and three quarters at the kings cross station thing, where's that??? and are they all located in the UK? is that a country and is hogwarts in there too? AAAAAAAAH IM SOOOOO CONFUSED

Because “Mrs Dursley’s” name doesn’t begin with a “V” Mr Dursley’s does - Vernon.