"Dobby... Dobby... Stop twisting your ears and listen to me. This is important."
Dobby stopped pulling at his ears and turned worshipful eyes upon Harry.
"Dobby, I need you to make the inside of this bag bigger. Then I need you to pack up everything from my trunk and whatever is in my closet as well. Once you've done that, stay in the room and don't come out until I call you. Oh, and stay out of sight. If anyone but me enters the room, I want you to get away to someplace safe," ordered Harry.
He put on his cloak and raced downstairs. The first thing to do, he reasoned, is to see if I can figure out if there's really someone out there or not. If he used the back door hopefully nobody would notice the door opening and closing. He quietly sneaked out the back. It was the hottest day of the summer so far and a drowsy silence lay over the large square houses of Privet Drive. Cars that were usually gleaming stood dusty in their drives and lawns that were once emerald green lay parched and yellowing - for the use of hosepipes had been banned due to drought. Deprived of their usual car-washing and lawn-mowing pursuits, the inhabitants of Privet Drive had retreated into the shade of their cool houses, windows thrown wide in the hope of tempting in a nonexistent breeze. Harry stood behind a large hydrangea bush and surveyed Privet Drive. It appeared to be deserted. Had he been jumping at nothing? He tucked his cloak tightly around himself and started a slow circuit of the house, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He was moving extremely carefully, making sure that he did not make any noise whatsoever. As he passed by the bushes nearest the street he smelled something. Yes, there was definitely a strong smell of alcohol and tobacco. He completed his circuit of the house but did not notice anything else that could be said to be unusual. "Damn," he thought. "There's definitely someone there. Couldn't see him, but I know I could smell him. Now what do I do...?"
Suddenly he was filled with rage. An icy calm, deeply cold rage. A Death Eater was lurking around his relatives house. Waiting to murder him or worse. For all he knew, the minute he stepped out into the street the hidden person would toss a portkey at him, one that would instantly transport him to a dungeon where he could look forward to experiencing Voldemort's cruciatus curse. His brain, that had been utterly focused on escaping now zeroed in on just one thought - Taking the Death Eater out. The question remained - how does one attack an invisible opponent?
Thinking rapidly he moved to a small shed that contained his gardening supplies. He picked up a small shovel and swung it a few times experimentally. Then he grabbed a small spray bottle that he normally used for spraying weed killer. He adjusted the nozzle to the setting at which it would disperse a very fine spray. Quickly filling it with water, he went outside where he checked the direction of the wind. Fortunately for him the breeze was almost non existent. Almost being the operative word. The scant wind that was blowing was almost perfect, blowing gently in the direction he needed. He carefully and silently moved to a position directly in line to where he had smelled the tobacco. He adjusted the folds of his cloak around the bottle so that he could poke the nozzle of it out. Slowly, slowly he depressed the handle of the spray bottle. A fine puff of spray left it to be dispersed slowly in the slight breeze. He watched as the minuscule droplets flew away, floating gently in the wind. He waited a few seconds. A few tense long seconds. Had the Death Eater noticed the sudden appearance of a spray of water from what would have appeared to be thin air. Since nothing happened, he moved slightly to his left and sprayed again, and then once more, he let out a final spritz of water.
Dropping the sprayer into the bushes, he moved silently back towards the front of the house. He moved silently. He was almost there, almost at the very spot where he had smelled the tobacco, when he saw it. There suspended in mid air were a few tiny droplets, shining in the afternoon sun.
He moved closer, closer and then he swung the shovel with all his might right at where he could see the infinitesimal drops of water. He connected with a jarring thump that almost tore the shovel from his grasp. The air in front of him rippled suddenly. He swung the shovel again, and the slight distortion in the air went down with a loud thump. He quickly reached out, out towards the rippling air. His fingers found the edges of something, something that felt like cloth. He grabbed it and pulled it aside to find an unconscious man bleeding from the head.
There was a strong smell of mingled drink and stale tobacco filling the air as Harry looked at the squat, unshaven man in a tattered overcoat. He had short bandy legs, long straggly ginger hair and bloodshot baggy eyes that were rolled up in his head. Harry had never met anyone who looked quite so disreputable.
"Definitely a Death Eater," he said to himself, "looks like a low level thug." He quickly covered the smelly man with the silvery folds of the invisibility cloak. He didn't need any of the Dursley's neighbours interfering after all.
"Hope, no one saw the shovel," he thought worriedly. It would have looked quite odd to any observer he thought. A shovel suddenly appearing in mid-air, briefly swinging, before disappearing again.
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