Prologue -Mrs Vo and Mr Jingles

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. As Proof of this, notice the sixth book does not have Luna searching for Crumple Horned Snorkaks... in Harry's pants!

Re-Edited: Jan 30 2011

Oh how Mrs. Vo hated Mr. Jingles. It wasn't just taking him out for walks or having to clean up after his 'poopies'. No, it was his attitude.

Mr. Jingles was her son Edward's dog. It was one of those ugly little pug things all the teenage girls swooned over. Oh how she wished her son had wanted a cat instead.

'A cat, now that is a pet. Self-sufficient, adorable and they won't shag my six hundred and thirty-five pound leather purse,' Mrs. Vo mused.

That damn dog was just too disrespectful and… cocky, strutting around like it owned the place.

Mrs. Vo gave a vindictive tug on that he-bitch's leash. "damn dog," she cursed. It didn't so much as yelp as it stared down the taught leash. It was a proud animal and Mrs. Vo believed that it took pleasure in staring smugly back at her.

"Maria, is that you?"

'Damn!' Mrs. Vo mentally cried as she turned to see Mrs. Figg waddling along carrying an obscene number of cat food tins.

'It's like she's trying to rub it in my face,' Maria Vo mentally hissed.

"Arabella, what are you doing out here at such a late hour?" Vo simpered.

"Why hello, dear. Oh, snowball has been ill for the past few days. I wanted to get him some treats to tempt him with," Mrs. Figg gushed.

'And here we go…' Vo mentally lamented as Mrs. Figg prattled on and on about her precious cats.

Even though Mrs. Vo would rather have a cat, she definitely did not want to hear about them, talk about them, or fuss over them as much as this woman did. Mrs. Vo found herself scrutinizing the neighbourhood gardens as Mrs. Figg continued to gush about Flopsy's love of mittens.

'Crap…crap…needs watering…crap…too mundane…crap….crap…crap…oh! What's this?'

She gazed enraptured at the beautiful shrubbery and perfectly shimmering orchids of number four privet drive.

"Ah, I see you noticed Harry's work," Mrs. Figg remarked proudly.

Mrs. Vo peered over at Mrs. Figg curiously. "the Potter boy?" she asked. Everyone within half a mile of number four privet drive had heard of 'the Harry Potter'.

He had become a neighbourhood myth that had spread from neighbour to neighbour. The family certainly tried to discourage this, but it was too little too late for that. His story had been the sort of tragic tale of lost potential that had captured the attention of every gossip starved busy body within ear shot.

At first, he was a rambunctious child who seemed to get into trouble at school, but was generally shy, and very quiet. Then at the tender age of eleven he was sent to a criminal institution year round. Petunia Dursley even confirmed it when confRonted by worried parents.

Mrs. Vo herself forbade Edward to even be in that psychotic's presence. This led to quite the argument as her sweet Edward was part of Dudley Dursley's group of friends, Dudley being the cousin of the beast child.

It was also widely known that Harry Potter and Arabella Figg got along famously. Mrs. Figg was a decent woman who seemed to embody little whinging spectacularly; if not a little eccentrically. That Potter boy on the other hand was a hoodlum, a crazed psychopath who would probably mug you, and take your virtue without a second glance; if he wasn't closely monitored by the police, Mrs. Vo and everyone else assumed.

And yet he created this…masterpiece. "Surely Petunia did most of the work," Vo stated reasonably.

"Petunia… garden?" Mrs. Figg asked as if Mrs. Vo was touched in the head.

"I forgot that you moved in after Harry came to live here. Petunia… Petunia couldn't even water a plastic fern, let alone a garden. You should have seen the property before Harry started working on it. It was like a war zone." Mrs. Figg whispered to a bemused Mrs. Vo.

"Surely you're joking. She goes on and on about how her roses," here Maria Vo pointed at the marvellous blooms for emphasis, "keep winning her awards. I've very clearly heard her brag about all the time she spends perfecting them."

Mrs. Figg developed a dark look, something that was very foreign to the kind woman who smelt a little of cabbage.

"You would do well to not take everything Petunia says very seriously, especially when Harry is involved. Not everything is always as it seems."

Mrs. Vo nodded an uneasy affirmative as she was taken aback at the clear signs of ill-concealed rage directed at Petunia Dursley, and indirectly, herself.

An awkward silence fell as Mrs. Figg distracted herself by rifling through her handbag to conceal her attempts to reach calm.

Mrs. Vo on the other hand was desperately thinking of excuses to leave the Dursley's lawn and subsequently Mrs. Figg's presence, when she was distracted.

An inhuman roar, it seemed to get louder and louder. The bellow seemed to be coming from number four itself.

It was a mix between a wounded eagle and enraged bear, and something else... Horrifying that caused both women to clutch their throats defensively, as if to assure themselves that they were not capable of such a monstrous wale.

"Boy, stop this at once!"

"Vernon, what will the neighbours think?"

Mrs. Vo recognized the harsh accusing rasp of the second voice, and bellow of the first that clearly announced the Dursley elder's presence.

'What the hell is making that noise?' Vo wondered. She remembered that Edward was out with his little friends. 'Dudley and what's his face polky...poultice...something with a pole in it; the rat-faced boy…'

'That means the only boy that would be in this house would be …'

"Harry." Vo turned abruptly to Mrs. Figg as she whispered the name. Deathly pale, she only managed a worried glance in Mrs. Vo's direction before sprinting away, whispering incoherently about how the "Dumb doors would help."

Mrs. Vo noticed a few neighbours leaning out their windows, looking curiously at the woman standing outside the house that seemed to shiver as the agonized wails vibrated off its walls.

Reddening slightly at the accusing stares, she pointed a well manicured thumb at the house, and shrugged as if asking whether this was normal. She received some sympathetic looks from a few friends, but more than a few scowls blaming her for the racket.

As Mrs. Vo was staring down a particularly indignant woman at number eight, she neglected to notice five distinct cracks between the house and her. Or the displaced air that refracted the street light slightly, like when looking at a glass of water as it bent the image of a strait pencil a few degrees up. She did however hear and see the Dursley door whip open, and just as violently close after a few seconds.

A few seconds of intense heat and wind that rushed out of the open door, and pushed Mr. Jingles to the ends of his leash away from the house, and caused Mrs. Vo to cover her eyes for fear of the scalding heat damaging her vision. Once the door was closed, the house went silent, but continued to quiver ominously.

Just as the neighbourhood was lulled into a false sense of security; the door opened to allow even more wind, roars, and heat to escape. The heat wave that escaped was at such a level that some of the grass wilted while the air wavered like a mirage.

Mrs. Vo would not know this but this was ideal, for the moving distortion that approached her. All Mrs. Vo saw was a blurry heat wave, instead of the distorted transparent caricature of a crudely drawn man.

The door closed but the heavily breathing dog walker noticed a faintly iridescent glow that lit under the door and through the curtains. She also noticed something else; she noticed that she wasn't alone.

She could feel herself being watched. Not by the neighbours but something else. Something dangerous, like being stalked by a predator, and she was some little furry animal, with a lame leg.

She shivered slightly, but dismissed it as the effect of the banshee call from within the house.

She was no coward and was about to drag a terrified Mr. Jingles to the door to ask whether everything was alright, that is until she noticed… the house had stopped quivering. The glow however had lost some of its warmth and inverted... It seemed to suck in light instead of expel it.

It gave number four a haunted appearance, something that no special effect could ever replicate. It made Mrs. Vo feel as if something truly special was lost.

Moments later, the silence that seemed to go on forever was interrupted by a sudden wave of chaos. The likes of which Mrs. Vo had never experienced before.

Mrs. Vo quickly lost consciousness as a force knocked her into the lawn opposite number four.

… .. … .. …

She was awakened by a forty-something-year-old scruffy man who looked mildly attractive, not that Mrs. Vo would admit that to anyone (being a happily married woman), followed by a shorter figure who she thought might have had an accident with a dozen fireworks in his youth. He scowled as he tried to restrain the then frantic Mr. Jingles who had soiled the man's ancient prosthetic.

They would claim to be with law enforcement, investigating the blast, whipping out badges from thin air and vanishing them from eyesight just as quickly as they appeared. The walking disfigurement would leer at her with his one eye and comically large fake, questioning her suspiciously. Mrs. Vo experienced being hunted once again as he seemed to stare into her soul and find her lacking.

They would question her about the strangest things.

"What does a microwave do?"

"It microwaves?" she would say uncertainly

"What does that mean though?" he'd lean in suspiciously, as if he could smell her lies with that disfigured nose of his.

Mr. Lupin, the scruffy fellow who she would never admit to finding dashing, seemed to understand her plight as she did not completely understand the mechanics of a microwave herself. But he nonetheless would allow his partner to interrogate her about everything mundane, everything except the explosion. It was as if they were trying to find out whether she had lived her life among other people who had experienced the joys of coffee machines and toasters.

They would eventually leave her be and allow her and a traumatized Mr. Jingles to return home. Well, that was after that scarred fellow waved a thin polished stick at the dog as if hoping to teach it new tricks as he murmured inaudible things.

'Maybe he was a drummer on the side' she would belatedly assume before cringing at the thought, as she reviewed the events of the night to her family.

Frankly neither seemed like they were cut from the same cloth, your everyday police men came from. For one thing, they were not in uniform, instead in slightly warn flowing robe like jackets and dress pants. As if they had popped out from the streets of Victorian London. For another, there questions were ludicrous, but who else could they be, for no one else had tried to contact her to get testimony for the events that had occurred that evening.

… .. … .. …

The night number four privet drive suddenly lost its east wall, numerous windows, and somehow caused every car alarm for a city block to go off simultaneously was the night Mrs. Vo became an instant celebrity.

Most assumed it was a homemade bomb that got out of hand, perpetrated by Harry Potter himself. The child had the right kind of reputation for insanity and criminal behaviour to try such a thing.

"He was probably arrested," was many a satisfied answer. The Dursley's never denied this and seemed to encourage the rumour until it became a well known fact.

"Oh he will not be coming back. That is for certain!" an aggravated Vernon Dursley would mumble to himself frequently.

Mrs. Vo was assaulted many times by over eager acquaintances and strangers who yearned for the first hand account of what it was like to be closest to the blast.

Anyone who had the audacity to ask about what it was like would listen with rapt and often perverse attention as she detailed the horrible noises, the brief blinding light, and the scalding heat she felt momentarily before the shockwave that left her in tingles for weeks made contact with her body. It would be well into November before everyone would stop questioning her.

But she would never forget, for as everyone else hissed, "the mangy Potter child should be hanged," or similar righteous threats siding with a distraught aunt, "Oh where did I go wRong?" Mrs. Vo would remember Mrs. Figg's words religiously.

"You would do well to not take everything Petunia says very seriously, especially when Harry is involved not everything is always as it seems."

Those words struck a chord within her.

"Not everything is always as it seems."

Mrs. Vo soon found excuses to be in Mrs. Figg's presence more often if only to be around someone else who did not consider the Potter child filth. She would still be wary about him of course, but she would reserve her judgement of the lad until she actually interacted with him.

She did however feel it her duty to have Mr. Jingles use Petunia's lovely rose bushes whenever he felt the need to go outside.

She would stop feeling guilty about Mr. Jingles' daily visits when she finally saw Harry Potter again… plastered on television and news screens across the nation, if not the world.

Yes, Mr. Jingles would be getting a treat that day when Petunia cringed as she sniffed the repeatedly defiled bush.

How she loved that dog.

Authors Note: I'm new and this would be my first story. This First chapter does not tell you all that much about this story so I'll try to fill in some information on what this will and will not be. This will not be slash. I have nothing against the gay community, but I do not enjoy reading or writing about character exhibiting these qualities. Bear in mind as I had planned this story out years ago before book 6 my Dumbledore is straight, it's significant enough to warrant a mention. This will be a Harry Luna Fic. This will be a post OotP story. This means Half blood prince did not happen. I will reserve the right to include information or plot points from that story but it does not seem likely.

I do not have a beta 'Yet'. I am currently looking for one. If you are willing to Beta for me please let me know. Forgive me for any spelling or grammar until one is found. I'm not too concerned with Briticism (sp) but not to worry, I'm not going to have Harry suddenly travel to another country and comment on how 'cool' everything is in California, or have any big bad Mary Sues.

See Profile for more information if you're desperate.