Still frozen from shock, seeing the zombies—no, Inferi—surrounding him and the 'person' drinking blood from the dead man's neck, Harry couldn't think straight. The 'fiction' he had read religiously for two years wasn't fiction anymore. Dammit, he needed a cake and some quiet time to think about this!
But reality was a cruel mistress, who was probably very amused at his reaction: eyes wide, hand clutched around a pendant (like an old Victorian maiden), and silent gasps. The Inferi weren't moving toward him yet. They quietly surrounded him, as though to overwhelm him and deter any thoughts of escape. The mist was growing strangely thicker.
Harry shuffled on his feet. The street was empty of any normal folk, and Mrs. Figg's house wasn't visible. She was the only one who might know about this madness—after all, she was the one who got him the books. He slowly turned around and came face-to-face with a rotten, repugnant face of an Inferi. He jumped back a little, realizing that slowly slipping away also wasn't a viable plan.
He heard the shuffling of feet behind him. Turning, he saw that the 'person' drinking blood had stood up and was now facing him. The face of the 'person' gave him a fright: sparse hair, pale and wan skin, hollow and dark eyes, long canines, and blood smeared all over their mouth. He involuntarily gulped. To add to the horrific persona of the 'person', it was wearing something like an overcoat or a robe. It made Harry squint hard to locate its position in all this mist.
As the silence stretched on, it finally croaked out.
"Harry... Harry... Po... Potter?" The voice was a little uncertain.
Harry's eye twitched. 'Great! A blood-sucking loon and his gang of dead know my name! Bloody great!' he screamed inside.
"I don't believe we've met, Mr...?" he said, trying to muster a smile and stall for any kind of help or information.
But it didn't answer. It slowly inched forward until it was mere inches away from him. Harry could smell the blood of the man. Up close, it looked less humanoid and more... artificial. It didn't make sense to him.
Slowly, it lifted its hand from the robes and brought it closer to his face. The hand was gnarled, bloody, and smelled of rot—courtesy of its dead friends, he supposed. The hand also had claws with something hanging off them. He didn't want to know what. One of the claws slowly pierced his cheek, and blood pooled on the finger, strangely not spilling at all.
He couldn't move. He didn't know if the loon would kill him or something worse. But he really, really didn't want to take the risk. So he stayed still and hoped, as he watched it lick his blood, that his blood wasn't to its palate.
"Harry... Potter... Harry..." it sounded a lot more certain after tasting his blood. More certain than he liked.
Suddenly, it went down on all fours, looking up at the sky and baring its long canines. It moved slightly away from him and just continued looking up. Harry was confused about how things had turned out. Did he taste that bad? That couldn't be it, could it? Hmm, maybe Mrs. Figg was right after all.
But—then he heard it. The constant roar of a machine. Which was approaching quickly towards him. As he, too, looked up, he saw a glaring light. The mist made it harder to make out the shape of the approaching object. He just hoped that whatever was coming would help.
As the mist parted, it became clear what... rather, who was approaching. It was a giant. Or a really tall man? This man could easily lift two Uncle Vernons, which was no small feat. The man had a scraggly, long beard, shabby clothes, and some kind of goggles to protect his eyes. And strangely, an umbrella was strapped to his back.
He was riding a sleek black motorcycle with a sidecar—that was what was making the noise. As the man came hurtling down towards them, the Inferi and the loon scampered back, groaning and screeching as they did.
"Get aside, you varmints!" roared the flying giant.
Harry, too, happily moved away, realizing the Inferi surrounding him were gone. As the man landed with an almighty BOOM, Harry half-expected it to break. But the motorcycle apparently had good bones; it survived, along with the sidecar. The man dismounted, took off his goggles, unstrapped his umbrella, and strode toward Harry.
He stood beside him and threw down a small object, which emitted a puff of black smoke. It drove off all the mist surrounding them and circled around the loon and his dead buddies. Then the man turned to him.
"Right, that'll hold 'em off. Me name's Hagrid, the Gameskeeper of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The finest there is," He smiled, "I came here as soon as I knew yeh were in trouble. Right. Enough chit-chat, let's go. We have to lose these rotten things behind," said the man—Hagrid.
Harry was the perfect picture of open-mouthed dumbfoundedness. He figured he could take a role of a goldfish in school play.
Gameskeeper? Hogwarts? Witchcraft? Did this man mean magic? The magic school he had read about in one of those books he's been reading for years?
"But I don't know you. I can't just come with you," he protested weakly. He really wanted some semblance of control.
"Oh, come on, Harry! If I wanted to harm yeh, why would I save yeh to begin with?" said Hagrid, a little indignantly.
"But, but—"
"Argh. Yer a wizard, Harry! Now hop on! We've got to move," growled the man a little. He sounded a little disappointed with his hasty speech.
He was what now?! How come he didn't know he could do magic?! How could he just believe a random stranger-savior?
'But' questions aside, Harry had to focus on living first. And that meant going with the gameskeeper of a school he thought was purely fantasy. But what else could he do? He had limited options, to begin with.
Control is an illusion.
Harry startled. An errant quote had just popped into his head. Strange.
They mounted the motorcycle, Harry in the sidecar and Hagrid riding the thing. With a twist of his wrist, the motorcycle roared to life and flew into the air. As the wind whipped across Harry's face and his glasses almost threatened to fall off, he looked back.
The dead entourage was still encased in the black smoke. The mist had cleared, and he could clearly see the whole street now. It was truly deserted, and the surrounding houses were also devoid of light. And then he saw it: the dead body of the man. Again, it hit him. He had seen a dead man.
He couldn't wrap his head around it. Did the man die because of him? The loon had been repeating his name over and over. Was he the—
"Are yeh okay? Those bast—ruddy things didn't hurt yeh?!" yelled the man, as the wind made it harder to hear.
"I—I am okay!" he yelled back.
"That's good, then!"
"Are we going to take Mrs. Figg too!? She's a wizard too, right?!" Harry yelled-asked.
Hagrid shook his head, constantly looking back to check if they were being followed.
"She's a Squib! And no, we can't take her! She'll be fine!" Hagrid yelled.
Harry felt a pit in his stomach. If the loons—or monsters, as they were—knew about him, and even Hagrid knew about him, then wasn't Mrs. Figg in danger too? He spent half his time at her house! What if they went there to find him?
He wasn't worried about the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon's face was enough to scare anything away. But Mrs. Figg lived alone. How could she protect herself if she was a Squib? He had read about Squibs in the glossary of History of Magic.
"But what if they go to her?! They could try to find me there! Hagrid, we have to—" but Hagrid cut him off.
Hagrid chuckled and said over the noise, "There are others! They'll take care of those things, Mrs. Figg, and yer folks! No need ta worry, Harry!"
Harry bit his lip. Again, he had to trust a stranger. He caressed the pendant around his neck. But this was his best bet. Maybe he could see her again, wherever they were going? He sure hoped so.
He heard Hagrid chuckle. He looked at him and saw him nodding to himself.
"Yeh don't believe me? Why don't ya try holding the necklace and say, defendren!" Hagrid said, looking ahead.
Harry was startled. Was this a magic necklace? Would he really be doing magic? Wouldn't this prove what Hagrid was saying as true?
He held the pendant and said, "Defendren!"
He opened his eyes wide and stared around him as a blue and golden sphere materialized. Harry was astonished, elated, joyous, and proud! He did magic!
"Yeh believe me now? She's on our side! She gave yeh that pendant! She'll be safe!" Hagrid said as the sphere disappeared after a few moments.
Harry could only nod. He was again curious to know what it was. And he expressed his curiosity.
Hagrid beamed at that and looked at him. As he was about to speak, he froze and yelled in alarm.
"What happened to yer cheek?!" he asked a little grimly.
Harry was confused but answered, "It's fine! The monster scratched me and drank some blood! That's all!"
The motorcycle suddenly swerved. Harry held on for dear life as something whizzed past them. The motorcycle stabilized after a few seconds.
"Me and my ruddy head! Why didn't ya tell me sooner?!" Hagrid roared.
The motorcycle accelerated, the wind whipping faster than ever.
"What's happening?!" Harry asked.
"Change of plans! We're goin' nearby to the Weasleys'! How's your aim?!" Hagrid asked as he turned the motorcycle and handed Harry an umbrella.
Harry was aghast. The night had taken a turn for the worse. Again.