Chapter 2: The Assassin Family

On a certain night in 1980, time was briefly defeated.

The next day, as the sun rose as usual, Vernon Dursley, fat to the point of having no neck, and Petunia Dursley, whose neck was twice as long as an average person’s, reluctantly adopted the orphan—Harry Potter—with a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, from the despised Potter family, after reading the letter from Dumbledore.

The Dursleys doted excessively on their precious son Dudley, especially Petunia, who constantly fed him, convinced he “never ate enough,” as if raising ducks on a farm.

Harry, however, had never been treated kindly. His round-faced cousin Dudley, along with his uncle and aunt, all disliked him. Harry spent his days sleeping in a narrow cupboard under the stairs.

Yet across the street from the Dursleys lived the Fry family, where a boy of Harry’s age, Jacob Fry, got along with him. Harry had met Jacob in first grade; they happened to attend the same elementary school. Perhaps because Jacob had also lost his parents early, he and Harry seemed close, sharing many common thoughts.

Jacob had soft, slightly curly dark brown hair, was more muscular than average, and had a higher nose bridge. Harry sometimes talked with Jacob about things happening at his uncle’s house—from the drill factory workers driving his uncle mad to his aunt making twelve apple pies that day. Jacob would secretly bring Harry chocolate from home, and on many Saturdays, the two would simply lie on the grass in the street park, basking in the sun, killing half the day.

“Harry, do you want to leave them?” Jacob propped himself up on his elbows, half-tilting his head toward the sky, then turned to Harry with a half-smile. “You must want to leave... right?”

“Huh?” Harry didn’t catch Jacob’s hesitation; he tilted his head, his beautiful olive eyes fixed earnestly on Jacob. “They treat me badly, so of course I want to leave. But I don’t know where I could go. Maybe, maybe when I’m older, they’ll kick me out.” Harry’s voice grew increasingly urgent.

“You’ll definitely have your own life someday. Maybe even become someone important—your aunt will regret it then. I’m certain of it, Harry. Hey, want to go out somewhere?” Jacob suddenly turned back to the sky, making an invitation.

“Somewhere relaxing—how about the zoo? Tomorrow’s your birthday, and your uncle and aunt won’t celebrate it, just like every other year! I’m sure Ivy would be happy to help you celebrate. Let’s go to the zoo? Come on, I really want to go to the zoo!” Jacob grew more excited, leaping up from the grass.

“Yeah, I mean, yeah! Great, I want to go to the zoo too—I’ve never been!” Harry became excited too; children always lack patience for good things. Still, Harry was puzzled—he didn’t recall ever telling Jacob about his birthday. But this was the first time since he’d started third grade that anyone had wanted to celebrate his birthday, and in his joy, he quickly forgot the small inconsistency.

On Sunday morning, Harry slipped out quietly and ran eagerly toward the other end of Privet Drive. When he arrived, Jacob had just slung a whole bag of food onto his back. He waved at Harry and said mysteriously, “When we get back from the zoo, I’ll give you a gift—you’ll love it.”

At that moment, a young woman stepped out the door, with sharply defined features and a dusting of freckles across her face. “Ready to go? I’ll drive you. Henry, you’re on dinner—remember to buy duck necks.”

Ivy Fry greeted her husband, then smiled at Harry. She was Jacob’s older sister, much older than him, and married to a man named Henry Green, an Indian. Harry had initially thought she was Jacob’s mother.

Ivy drove them to the zoo. There were many people on Sunday, but few who favored reptiles. To avoid the crowds, Ivy took Harry and Jacob through the reptile house first. Behind the massive glass walls, the three walked in silence. Children are always drawn to unknown, dangerous beauty.

“Good heavens, how long is this python? Twenty-five feet?” Harry’s eyes widened half-way.

“It’s got to be thirty feet! Could swallow you whole!” Jacob teased Harry. “How many years does it take to grow this big? Maybe we should ask it.”

“How old are you?” Harry half-joked to the python.

The python slowly turned its head toward Harry, slithering closer, flicking its tongue. “Sssss, ssssss.”

“Oh, you’re twenty-four? That’s still young for a snake? Wait—you understand me?” Harry gasped, then burst into delight. “You’re from... Burma? Are you bored being stuck here every day?”

Harry chatted with the python for a few moments, but when he turned to share this with Jacob, he found they were gone. He moved to go look for them, but was stopped by a security guard.

“Hey, kid, where are your parents or guardians? We don’t allow six- or seven-year-olds wandering around alone.”

“Uh, sir, I think they went to the restroom...”

“Regardless, you’re separated from them. Come with me to the broadcast office.”

After several announcements and a long wait, neither Jacob nor Ivy appeared. Harry grew despondent. The kind security guard learned Harry’s address and offered to take him home after his shift.

Harry couldn’t figure out where they’d gone. The thrill of speaking to the snake was dampened by this strange turn of events.

As dusk approached, Privet Drive was no longer quiet as usual—a crowd had gathered outside Harry’s house, chattering excitedly.

“What’s going on? Why are there so many police here?” Harry felt a strange unease at the sight. He thanked the zoo guard and hurried home.

Number 4 Privet Drive had been cordoned off. A crowd stood beyond the police tape, discussing what had just happened.

Harry stood frozen beyond the tape.

“I can’t believe Petunia Dursley was just murdered. I mean, sure, she always gossiped about the neighbors, but who would—oh, and poor little Dudley got caught up in it too.”

“Hey, lower your voice—the boy’s back... Harry, I’m sorry. Please trust the police.”

“Oh, poor little boy. Will he be sent to an orphanage now?”

“Not to my house, thank goodness. Oh, wait—I just remembered, I need to go turn off the soup pot.”

As darkness fell, Harry slowly came to his senses and trembled as he asked the officer:

“Sir, I mean—my uncle and aunt—they were killed? Why would anyone do this?”

“Poor child, we don’t know. But clearly, he hired a professional killer to eliminate everyone in the house: the scene was unnaturally clean, each victim had only one wound—a single precise cut to the neck, instantly fatal. I’m sorry, child. You could say you barely escaped. I don’t know how they provoked such a killer. Child, where are your parents?”

“They died when I was born, sir.” Harry’s voice was calm, yet hollow.

“We’ll contact your other close relatives. If none will take you, you’ll have to go to an orphanage. Poor child.” The bearded officer crouched down and gently brushed his damp hair.

“Sir, can I choose who adopts me? I mean—if someone really wants to.”

As the officer stood to leave, Harry looked up, summoning courage to ask.

“Yes, we’ll evaluate potential adoptive families.”

“Thank you.”

The police were still investigating. The crowd thinned. Beneath the distant streetlamp stood an elderly man with a white beard, beside him sat a mysterious cat.

“Mrs. Figg told me the Fry family across the street has vanished. Harry’s entire day is highly suspicious—we have every reason to suspect Henry Green is behind this,” Dumbledore said slowly.

“Henry Green... is he a Death Eater?” the cat spoke. “I can understand—it takes blood kin to sustain the powerful protective charm. And perhaps he didn’t kill Harry because the Dark Lord ordered it to be done personally.”

“You’re right. That’s more or less what I thought. I heard he’s Indian—perhaps Voldemort had foreign contacts we didn’t know about... But now that this has happened, where this child goes next matters more. He can’t go to an orphanage—he must be protected. We’ll search again for Lily’s blood relatives. We must move quickly. Come, McGonagall.”

A rustle—and the man and cat vanished beneath the streetlamp.

“The Taylors?” The doorbell rang. No answer. The neighbor woman leaned out her window and greeted them.

“Evening, ma’am and sir—are you friends or relatives? Maybe. I should tell you, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor haven’t returned since their trip last month. Police have declared them missing.”

“Dumbledore, they’re moving faster than we thought. Who’s next?” McGonagall’s eyes held a flicker of unease.

“They have many relatives—perhaps the assassins will struggle to reach them.” Dumbledore’s voice remained calm. Behind his small spectacles, he hesitated, thoughtful. “It’s difficult. But perhaps it’s our last hope. Come, McGonagall.”

Two days later, a phone rang in Tang Dun.

“Please connect me to George Crowley.”

“Sir, there’s a call for you.”

“Yes, this is me. Lily Evans?” The old man paused. “My cousin’s husband did indeed bear the surname Evans. No matter—I’m happy to. How’s the boy? I’ll take good care of him. Naturally. Excellent. Excellent.”

“What’s wrong, Grandpa?” Eve noticed the glow on George’s face—the sign of excitement.

“The boy is coming.” George’s wrinkles seemed less soft.

“Harry Potter?” Eve’s voice rose in delight.

“Yes. Harry Potter.”