Disclaimer – Nothing is mine.

You Must Have The Wrong House

The man’s unshaven face would have barely drawn a second glance usually, but if it wasn’t for his strange clothing, then the fact that he’d been sitting on the hard stone bench across the road from the house for almost three days certainly drew people’s attention.

More than once the local police had been called by concerned, and somewhat nosey neighbours, but each time the man had spoken softly with the policemen and they’d gone away again.

It was quite late on that third day when the man finally stood. The sun had long gone down and the streetlights cast eerie shadows on the pavement. Trees rustled and every so often a car going past nearby would break the silence of the landscape.

Those one or two people who were still watching the man perked up in interest as he crossed the street and climbed the stone steps in front of the house before rapping softly on the door.

Minutes later it was opened by a young man in his mid twenties with shoulder length messy black hair and a frowning expression.

‘Yes?’

‘Harry?’ The man spoke hopefully.

The frown deepened. ‘There is no Harry here, you must have the wrong house.’ He murmured out before slamming the door shut, the sound echoing up the road.

The man tried knocking on the door for several minutes but it stayed tightly closed and eventually the man turned and shuffled away.

The next day the shabbily dressed man was replaced by identical twins with the reddest hair anyone in the street had ever seen. They only watched the house for an hour before they crossed the road and knocked on the door.

‘Yes?’ The young man raised an eyebrow at the twins.

‘Harry, mate.’ Said one.

‘How are you?’ Added the other.

‘Everyone’s been looking for you.’ The first one cut in again.

The young man holding the door lowered the raised eyebrow and studied the twins before shaking his head. ‘There is no Harry here. You must have the wrong house.’ He said curtly before once again the door slammed shut.

The third day it was a woman with violently pink coloured hair. The main highlight of that particular visit was the spectacular fall up the gutter the woman had causing her to land in an ungainly heap at the bottom of the stairs. By now half the street was watching these unusual comings and goings by the oddly dressed people. They all stared out their windows as the pink haired woman picked herself up off the footpath and tripped up the stairs before finally knocking on the door.

‘Wotcha!’ The woman smiled brightly as the black haired young man opened the door.

‘Yes?’ He inquired curiously.

The woman frowned, a very odd looking expression under that vibrant coloured hair. ‘Harry, it’s me Tonks. Don’t you remember?’

The man raised an eyebrow. ‘There is no Harry here. You must have the wrong house.’ He said bluntly before slamming the door shut once more.

It was getting almost to be a real live American soap opera as the next day bought the arrival of yet another strange figure. This one had what looked to be a wooden leg and scars all over his face, one eye covered with an eye patch. The expression about not wanting to meet someone in a dark alley looked to have been written with this man in mind. He stomped up the steps and rapped loudly on the door.

‘Harry Potter.’ He said gruffly when the door was once again opened.

He received the same response as those who came before him. The raised eyebrow and the simple, ‘There is no Harry Potter here. You must have the wrong house.’

This time the man tried to shove his foot in the door before it could slam but a not quite gentle shove on his shoulder from the young man had his foot out of the way and the door shut tightly.

Once again the next morning house wives up and down the street all rushed eagerly to their windows to see what the day would bring. Sure enough two oddly dressed people were sitting on the hard stone bench talking softly.

After about an hour they rose and made their way across the road. The young man looking not altogether different from the owner of the house, albeit he was taller and broader and he didn’t wear glasses. The woman was probably the weirdest of those that had visited the quiet young man at number seven. She had long floating blond hair, small radishes hanging from her ears and was dressed in what looked to be a peculiar combination of boys and girls clothes.

Once again they knocked and once again the door was answered. ‘Yes?’

‘Hi Harry.’ The woman said dreamily.

‘Hiya Harry. We just wanted to say we’re sorry. You know about Ron and Hermione and the others.’ The man’s movements were nervous, as if he expected to be rebuffed sharply at any moment.

He was not to be disappointed. The young man’s expression became chillingly blank. ‘There is no Harry here. You must have the wrong house.’ He whispered before once again the door slammed.

Day by day more people watched the strange happenings and some were even brave enough that when they saw the arrival of another person or persons would actually suddenly find that their front hedge need trimming or gate needed rehanging.

On the sixth day the two people arrived almost as if by magic. They just stepped out from behind a tree further down the street but surprisingly no one questioned it, even as they watched the elderly couple move slowly towards number seven.

The rather sever looking woman helped the positively ancient looking man up the steps. They both wore equally as odd clothing as those that had come before and while the woman’s hair was pulled back in a severe bun the length of the man’s silvery white mane was second only to his snowy white beard that all but came to his knees.

Sure enough they knocked on the door and just as surely it was opened and the simple blunt word greeted them.

‘Yes?’

‘H..harry? Dear boy, is it really you?’ The elderly man reached out towards the young man who stepped back to avoid the old knarled hand. Tears ran down the old woman’s cheeks but the young man was oblivious.

‘There is no Harry here. You must have the wrong house.’ He said stiffly before closing the door albeit much more quietly than the last time.

The entire street watched and waited the next morning for the next instalment in the ongoing saga of the reclusive young man at number seven.

It had been the first sign of anything of interest happening since the young man had moved in several years ago. He barely ever came out, having his groceries delivered from the supermarket up the road and his mail dropped directly through the slot in the front of his door. Not that he ever really got any. According to the postman he couldn’t remember anything more than an electricity or phone bill in almost four years.

They weren’t disappointed however when a group made up of all those who had come the previous days as well as several more walked around the corner and made their way down the street.

As it was a Sunday nearly all were home and suddenly everyone found something they had to do in their front gardens, from pulling out the lawn mower, to tinkering with the car to pruning the rose bushes.

As the group all gathered on the steps one man stepped forward and knocked on the door. Baring a strong resemblance to the set of twins from earlier in the week he had long red hair tied neatly back and an earring in his ear.

The entire street waited with baited breath, all pretending that they weren’t staring at what had to be the oddest group of people they had ever seen.

Moments later the door opened and the young man appeared, expressionless save for the raised eyebrow he seemed to have every time someone knocked on his door this week.

‘Yes?’ He said politely, glancing around the group with no recognition whatsoever.

‘Harry, please, don’t tell us to go away.’ The man with the earring began.

‘I know you know who we are, dear boy.’ The elderly man cut in.

‘We just want to talk to you, Harry.’ Said one of the twins.

‘Harry please, we just want to check you’re alright.’ Added the other one.

The young man stared at the group in silence for several moments before frowning slightly. ‘There is no Harry here. You must have the wrong house.’ He said before once again slamming the door shut in their faces before they could stop him.

The man with the earring stepped forward and tried the door knob, flicking what looked to be a funny stick at the door before turning back at shaking his head. ‘Wards.’ He sighed.

‘Can we break them?’ The elderly man asked hopefully.

The red headed man shook his head. ‘Merlin himself couldn’t break them.’ He told the group, causing raised eyebrows from those neighbours either side at the rather odd expression.

‘What now?’ Asked the woman whose hair today was the colour of an azure sea.

‘There is nothing else left. We have to.’ The elderly man said sadly. Several in the group winced and the rest of the street watched in interest as the group turned and walked away.

The next day the neighbours were to be disappointed as no one turned up to visit the young man with the messy black hair at number seven.

They all waited, checking each morning to see if anyone had arrived, but each day the stone bench remained empty and, after several days, things in the street returned to normal.

It was almost a week later, lunch time on Saturday, that several strange figures rounded the corner instantly sparking the interest of the neighbours. Phone calls flew through the street as the group of four made their way towards number seven.

The elderly couple and shabby looking man were as oddly dressed as ever but it was the fourth person who garnered most of the interest. A stunning brunette of roughly a quarter their age. She could have been their granddaughter except for the fact that she looked completely normal. Her blue jeans and dark jacket were set off nicely by the red scarf around her neck and brown boots on her feet. She walked confidently towards the house and up the steps. By the time she knocked on the door and stepped back half the front gardens in the street were occupied.

The three that had accompanied the young woman waited nervously at the bottom of the steps.

This was their last hope.

Most of the street held their breath the door opened. As per the previous visits the young man opened the door with an eyebrow raised.

The brow quickly dropped however and the man’s eyes widened so much they almost looked to about to fall out of his head.

‘Hello Harry.’ The young woman said softly, tears filling her eyes and threatening to spill down her cheeks.

The young man’s mouth opened and closed several times before he could recover enough to actually speak. ‘No, it’s not real. You’re not real. It can’t be. Not you. Most especially not you.’ The young man backed up and moved to close the door.

‘Harry, please.’ The young woman cried and the young man all but staggered in the doorway, showing the most emotion anyone had ever seen when he leant against the doorway and ran a ragged hand through his hair.

‘Don’t you understand? I can’t do this again. I can’t lose anyone again. I can’t lose you again. I just couldn’t stand it.’ He whispered, refusing to even look at her.

The young woman took a couple of steps forward and placed a gentle hand on the young man’s arm causing his head to lift instantly. It was all it took and moments later the young man had moved closer and swept the young woman into his arms as if he would never let her go.

The three at the bottom of the steps were all crying silently but any noise would have been drowned out anyway by the heart wrenching sobs coming from the young man as he hugged the woman tightly to him.

‘I’m sorry, Harry.’ She whispered. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner.’

‘Why?’ The young man cried. ‘I thought you were dead. They told me you were dead.’

‘They thought it was better that way. That it would be easier for you.’ She explained as she gently rubbed his back.

The young man raised his head and glared at the three people at the bottom of the steps. ‘What gave you the right?’ He hissed before picking the woman up in his arms and walking back through the doorway, giving the three one last hard look before slamming the door shut behind him.

‘That didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.’ The elderly gentleman murmured before together with his two companions he turned away and walked back down the street.

This was a little one shot that came to me at lunch time yesterday. I might continue it though.

Perhaps.

I almost have another chapter of Ties ready for you too. Don’t you just love me.

I won’t talk about the Deathly Hallows just yet as I imagine that there is still quite a few people who haven’t read it yet (I finished it in less than seven hours) and I don’t want to spoil anything.

Once again thanks for reading.

Regards,

Mione