Vituperan
Chapter One: Gifted
The Dursleys drove out of Surrey and began the long twist down winding green country roads. Dudley was playing a handheld video game in the next seat over in the back, but Harry chose to look out the window and watch the world pass by. He was six years old and going somewhere he had never even seen before, somewhere that didn't really give him any inkling of hope because Dudley was going with him.
Uncle Vernon had held up the application sheets one night in the living room, his eyes gleaming. "You two," he said with threatening intent, "are going to a very nice boarding school for the rest of your primary. Very posh, very fancy. Lovely thing to talk about at dinner parties, lovely thing for Dudley. It's called Vituperan's School for the Gifted."
"I don't want to go anywhere!" Dudley had complained loudly and immediately from his assigned place on the sofa beside Harry. Uncle Vernon stood above them.
"And I don't want to go anywhere with Dudley," said Harry. "Why are you allowing me to go, anyway?" he wondered. "The school must cost something."
Uncle Vernon gave him a sideways begrudging glare. "It is required, if we apply," he admitted gruffly, "that all children of age be tested for… gifts," he sneered, as if the very idea of Harry having any gifts was stupid. "You're both six. So you both have to apply." So he had asked if Harry could be skipped. That figured.
"Are either of us really… gifted?" Harry wondered tentatively, skeptical.
"You have to take a test, and you're going to pass!" his uncle barked, his eyes flashing. "Or be humiliated trying! And that's final!"
Harry had not been able to study because he had no idea how a school tested for the mythical "gifted" quality. He was pretty sure dully that he was going to fail - and be humiliated, as Uncle Vernon had predicted. If he didn't fail, he'd be going to school full of overachievers alongside Dudley, who would probably beat him up and pick on him a lot.
He hadn't been kidding, though. Somehow he couldn't see Dudley being at a school for the gifted. Dudley was dumb.
They drove past a curtain of ivy hanging from a willow tree, rounded a paved drive corner, and found that the paved road wound in a circle right up to a vast Victorian era estate. The front building was vivid crimson and black, with grand towers and turrets and distinctive gingerbread trim, two simple but uneven-looking stories.
Harry felt a jump of nervousness in the pit of his stomach as they parked in front of a long, sheltered walkway up to the front door and got out of the car. It was very quiet, out here in the countryside. Birds twittered in edgeside trees.
Dudley gave an explosive sigh. "This is stupid!" he said.
"Duddy, dear, please try to be nice," Aunt Petunia cooed fondly, putting a hand to his cheek. "This will be so good for my darling boy… oh, I hate that I won't see you for so long…" Tears had filled her blue eyes. Uncle Vernon ruffled a scowling Dudley's hair.
Harry as usual was kept out of this little family picture, standing off to the side and watching.
As he walked in, he was intimately aware that he wasn't wearing very nice clothes. All he had to wear were old hand me downs of Dudley's, all of which were humongous on his much smaller frame. His glasses were round, wire-rimmed, and taped at the nose. His messy black hair was hideous. He was small and skinny.
Not exactly the picture of the gleaming rich straight A overachiever he imagined fitting in here. The student in his imagination was female with long straight blonde hair, wealthy clothes, pencil skirts, and a snotty manner.
The manor house was rather simple on the inside, but somehow grand. Lots of windows let in sunlight into the entrance hall, each window hung with black velvet curtains with crimson trim. The carpeting even all the way up the sweeping central staircase was crimson, and the wood was again black. The walls were a creamy off-white. Sound echoed pleasantly in the surprisingly warm, large room. Vast doorways on either side of them led to other parts of the manor house.
A brisk woman in an official business jacket and skirt walked up to them. She had dirty blonde hair and a crisp face with serious lines, but she didn't seem unfriendly. She stuck out a hand. "Mrs Crawford," she introduced herself, shaking hands with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. "I take it you're here for the testing."
"Yes," said Uncle Vernon, swelling up importantly and obviously trying to be intimidating. "We've already paid in full, though we will be refunded of course if they fail."
Harry looked down. That would be him.
"Of course," said Mrs Crawford, smiling thinly and not looking at all intimidated. "Now. These would be Harry and Dudley." She leaned down to smile at them. "Very nice to meet you. Who is who?"
Dudley was looking petulant and childish, so Harry admitted quietly, "I'm Harry."
"Right. Well, let's take you up for testing," said Mrs Crawford, standing straight. "You'll be tested in separate rooms."
"Now?" Harry asked, blanching. Dudley had paled visibly.
"Yes. It's testing day. No time like the present!" said Mrs Crawford cheerfully. "Mr and Mrs Dursley, you of course cannot be there to help for the testing portion. There is a tea being held for the parents in the breakfast room. That way." She pointed. "The children will be brought back to you when they've finished."
"Take courage, Duddy," Aunt Petunia cooed, and then Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia walked away. Dudley now looked terrified and trapped, away from the shelter of his parents for the first time as their backs retreated away from him. But Harry had never felt incredibly supported by his aunt and uncle anyway.
He was going to fail and he was weirdly calm about it.
Mrs Crawford looked from the Dursleys to the two boys, and then between the two boys. Her eyes narrowed and for a split second Harry could see the cogs turning. Mrs Crawford, he realized, was not stupid.
"Very well," she said, turning around. "As we go up to the testing room, I'll give you a little mini tour.
"Vituperan's School for the Gifted is a vast Victorian estate, a set of small manor houses just like this one in a square around a central garden courtyard. All are decorated in black and crimson velvet. We do have a school fund, for clothing and such - we do make trips from the courtyard by bus into the nearest town - and each passing student is given a private bedroom. We have no secondary school, only a primary school to start students on the path to a talented life. Students take classes and room in sets - different sets live and are taught in different buildings. The sets are assigned randomly. All buildings and sets look and are taught essentially the same way."
Harry felt a small flicker - momentary, brief - of tentative hope. If he wasn't put in Dudley's set…
"Now, all the living is done in the manor space you are seeing around you. The yearly testing is of course started upstairs. But we have built underground a long series of interconnected floors, and that is where the teaching and learning happens. In the basement cellar floors. You will only see the underground basement cellar floors of a building when you begin the most rigorous part of the testing process."
… Just how much did this test entail? Harry wondered.
"So without further ado, to your left is the dining room, and the laundry room connected to the dining room, followed going down the way by the kitchen and the cook's quarters, and the breakfast room connected to the kitchen. The breakfast room leads into the den, where games and common room and homework activities are performed, and the den leads out a back side door into the central courtyard. There used to be a garage there, but we took it out.
"Teacher's offices and quarters take up the space behind the staircase and winding around to the entire right side of the first floor.
"Going up the stairs…"
And they mounted the staircase, listening.
"We have all the students' bedrooms. Student rooms get an entire floor to themselves. For the yearly testing, we have cleared out several bedrooms and made them introductory testing spaces. Testing is done over a long period of time because each student is assigned a personal examiner. You'll see why when you enter a testing room."
They entered a long, winding series of crimson-carpeted hallways with off-white creamy walls and simple black wood doors labeled with letters and numbers. Mrs Crawford stopped for Dudley first. "Dudley," she said, "in here."
"I don't want to do this," said Dudley, crossing his arms and scowling down at the floor.
Harry realized… incredibly… that Dudley was scared.
"Well, I'm afraid you have to, your parents have already paid a great deal of money," said Mrs Crawford simply.
"So?" said Dudley, his face going red. Harry braced himself for an impending tantrum.
"Mr Dursley. Please enter the room." Mrs Crawford steered a surprised Dudley firmly into the testing room by the shoulder, opening the door and then closing it on him. "Let's go," she said to Harry matter of factly, and she walked right on down the hall.
Harry followed behind her, positively impressed. He didn't envy Dudley's personal testing examiner.
"Here is your room," said Mrs Crawford at last, pausing beside a room just like any other. "Please enter." She looked wary after Dudley.
Harry tried to give her a small smile through his sudden case of nerves. "Yes, ma'am," he said, and made to walk through the door.
"I must say, Harry," said Mrs Crawford in surprise, "you seem to be treated worse, but you're much better behaved than your cousin."
Harry stood there awkwardly, pleased. "Oh - thank you," he managed, and then took a deep, bracing breath, shut the door behind him, and turned to face the intimidating testing room.
Which was not intimidating at all.
A brunette woman with short hair, a round face, and a cheerful dimpled smile stood in front of him in an empty room, her hands folded. "Hi," she said, "I'm Mindy! And I take it from your confused and frightened expression that your parents were one of those who signed their child up for a gifted school without looking into what that actually meant."
"Well… I live with my aunt and uncle, because my parents have passed, but that sounds like my aunt and uncle," Harry admitted. "They wanted to sound good at dinner parties."
"Ah." She smiled sympathetically and nodded. "Yes, it does happen. Okay, let me explain. They can't back out now anyway, now they've signed the paperwork and paid - not if you pass, which is not as hard as it sounds.
"We test our students in a wide variety of skills. From there, your education proceeds as normally - you take all the same basic educational classes that a regular primary school student would. Academically rigorous, but it does not require a genius to do it."
Harry paused in surprise.
"Vituperan is instead called a school for the gifted because of the skills we test our students in. You have to pass into six specializations to pass. You take after-hours lessons and training in those specializations. At least one of them has to be some kind of physical activity type skill, but they can really be anything, in the arts, sciences, liberal arts, or physical sports. You take 'gifted' or 'exceptional' classes in those six specific areas - you will be passed into them because you are judged to be unusually talented in the basic skills required to perform them.
"So at Vituperan: you have six regular primary school educational courses over a single school-day, and then six after-hours specializations to practice after that. This sounds like a lot to include in one day, so we alternate specializations and vastly decrease their time span from regular classes - three short specialization sessions per day, alternating between one day and the next. So Monday you would have a school-day and then your first three short specializations. Tuesday you would have a school-day and then your other three short specializations. Wednesday the whole process begins anew.
"Get it?"
"Er - yes," said Harry, his head swimming, somehow now even more nervous than before.
"What's wrong?" Mindy asked, frowning in concern.
"I just… I don't think I'm that good at anything, ma'am," he admitted, scuffing the toe of his shoe.
To Harry's surprise, Mindy smiled. "No one is perfect starting out - Harry, is it?"
Harry nodded. "Harry Potter," he managed.
"Harry," said Mindy warmly, sympathetic. "Most six year olds are not already incredibly good at something. It's a bit complicated, but we look for potential - not defined skills. You'll see when we start testing."
Harry didn't think he had much potential in anything either, but he decided not to admit to this out loud. And he couldn't imagine Dudley being talented at anything.
"So." Mindy beamed and clapped. "Let's get started!" Harry smiled despite himself at her enthusiasm.
But he did have one question.
"Er - Mindy - if I pass - can I be put in a set that's different from Dudley's?" he asked, wincing.
"How surprising," said Mindy. "Most siblings request the opposite. Why?"
"Well… he likes picking on me, and beating me up, and keeping me from having friends," Harry muttered. "It was like that since preschool, all the way through kindergarten and year one of primary."
Mindy looked alarmed. "Come with me," he said, and Harry was terrified he'd blown it as he followed her out the door - petrified that his aunt and uncle would be told. But Mindy said, "Wait here," and she walked up to Mrs Crawford down the hall. They talked in hurried, whispered conversation for a few minutes as Harry stood there, his stomach churning with nerves.
Finally, Mindy nodded and came back toward Harry. Mrs Crawford disappeared with quick, brisk steps down a different hallway, as if off on some important mission.
Mindy said, "Not to worry, Harry. You won't be placed in the same building as Dudley if you pass. Though we will tell you what classes he got, just for your basic information, and he will be told yours. But you won't see much of each other. In fact, Dudley has already been placed on what is called disciplinary watch, assuming he passes."
"Dudley hasn't gotten any disciplinary watch at all before," Harry admitted.
"Yes, we suspect as much," said Mindy with thinned lips. "He has already given his examiner a great deal of trouble. Not like you." She favored Harry with a small smile. "Shall we get started?"
Harry steeled himself and nodded.
They walked down a series of long hallways, back down the stairs, through the entrance hall, and through a small doorway hidden behind the staircase. They went down a series of dark, cold, narrow steps… before finally walking out into a magnificent place.
"Welcome to the Basement," said Mindy.
The Basement, so-called, was a series of interconnected floors walled in by glass, so that people could be seen like ants crawling all over the staircases and floors below the main walkway. It was dark, with plain stone walls, cool but not cold, and brightly lit by fake warm sunlight lamps connected to the glass floors. Harry could see art rooms, music rooms, sports rooms, a library, a computer lab, a small theater, a kitchen, even a skating rink and an ice rink. Little dark ants of incoming students were being led everywhere through the floors by different teachers, down glass staircases, past glass walls and floors. The Basement was a strange combination between dark and lit. One whole right side of the Basement seemed to be just for regular if elegant, chic, and white modernistic classrooms.
"Come with me," said Mindy, and Harry was led through a dizzying variety of floors, into the huge library, and then into a small anteroom connected to the library. Mindy and he sat across from each other at a small table, alone, almost like an interview. Harry could feel the cool Basement air on his skin.
"So I'm going to ask you to talk about your life - things you notice, things you've experienced, that sort of thing," said Mindy. "And at the end, I'm going to narrow down your testing choices."
So she asked surprising questions, and Harry began talking - about what surprised him as a huge variety of things concerning his life. He talked and talked, and Mindy nodded along. Harry supposed he was allowed to say anything he pleased - he was being tested by his aunt and uncle's command, after all.
At last Mindy banged the table.
"Right!" she said. "I think we've got it!"
She scribbled some things down furiously on a piece of paper attached to a clipboard for a few minutes, and then stood. "Stand up, and follow me," she said. "If you pass anything, you will get to know what part of our conversation led me to that conclusion."
First Harry was led to an indoor sports field - there were pools and rinks, but he was led to the sports field first. A massive male coach there took him through basic track and field, and then through some basic football exercises. Harry thought he did pretty well - not great, but pretty well.
But Mindy was frowning. His heart sunk.
Then, of all things, she led him to the ice rink.
"I've never skated before," he admitted.
"Well, put on a pair of skates and try it out," said Mindy simply. She was watching carefully.
So Harry sat down on a bench, strapped on a pair of skates from a cart off to the side, and took out onto the ice. This seemed interesting, so he was rather looking forward to it. After a few stops and starts, he figure out basically how to keep upright and move on the ice, and he glided out into the center of the ice rink.
He just skated around, doing little loop the loops and little turns, slowly getting the hang of it. He smiled whimsically to himself.
"This is pretty cool!" he called, enjoying the rush of cool air through his hair, the feeling of gliding through every random loop and every turn. He felt true joy. This, he could do without a coach - this was easy. He learned all the basics to skating around softly very quickly.
Then someone called out, "I'll take him!"
Harry turned around, stopping with his toe pick as he'd already figured out how to do, pausing in surprise. The coach had come out of the bathroom and was standing beside Mindy, a huge smile on her face.
Mindy smiled. "Harry, this is Sam Taylor, the figure skating coach." She was a busty, small woman with a blonde ponytail.
"Figure skating?" said Harry puzzled. "That's for girls, isn't it?"
"A common misconception," said Sam Taylor, skating out beside him onto the ice, impossibly and impressively fast and graceful. "There are just as many men in figure skating as there are women - both in couples skating, and in single."
"I don't have to wear a skirt, do I?" said Harry in dread.
Sam Taylor barked out a laugh. "No, kid," she chuckled. "You get trousers and a shirt."
"You definitely passed this one, Harry," Mindy said, smiling, as Harry beamed and skated back toward her. "You said you were fast, and I noticed you were small, so I started trying out some physical activities. You're all right at football and track, not bad, but here is where you really stand out. That kind of natural skill, speed, steadiness, and grace - that's what we're looking for. You're the perfect build for it, too - small and slim. Not lithe or muscular yet, but don't worry, we'll bulk you up.
"And you like it, don't you?"
"I do," Harry admitted, sitting back down and taking off his skates. He realized he was still smiling at the rush of adrenaline, some of his previous fears vanished. His uncle would hate this, being so macho himself, and his uncle could do nothing about it, which somehow made Harry glad.
"You were doing loops and everything," said Sam Taylor, skating back to the edge of the rink, and watching him, smiling sharply with a gleam in her eye. "You didn't look scared on the ice at all, right from the start. And you seem pretty quiet, sort of skeptical and sarcastic, but you were really expressing yourself out there, too.
"Very nice. Just what we're looking for."
Harry put his shoes back on, strangely pleased with himself, and he and Mindy left the ice rink - hopefully, Harry thought, not for the last time. He still had to find an incredible five more things he was good at.
Confusingly, next Mindy took Harry to the kitchens, long rows of work stations at long rows of counters. "Because my aunt makes me do kitchen chores?" he asked, making a face.
"Correction: she makes you cook. But when you started talking to me, you talked in great detail about different tastes and how much you'd love eating more - and you put a particular emphasis on chocolate. Which is usually in baked goods. You really seem to like sweets, in fact."
So she introduced him to the chef. "This is Marcus," she said of the big, round-faced Black man with a friendly smile. "He's going to try you at baking."
"Okay. First: how good are you at memory and timing?" Marcus asked. "Be honest. And how good are you at working fast?"
"Well, I have to be all those things to cook for my family," said Harry. "I haven't burned anything recently. It all turned out alright. But… when I think of baking, I think of my aunt's massive sugared violet puddings." He made a face.
"You don't like what's called the aesthetic - the look of it," Marcus realized. "Well each baker has their own individual look. That's one of the things that makes baking and decorating a piece so much fun. Care to try it out and see what different aesthetics you'll come up with?" He raised an eyebrow challengingly. "Improve on your aunt?"
"... Yeah. I could try it," Harry admitted thoughtfully."
"Perfect," said Marcus, and he had Harry do something wonderful: go down the row and taste different chocolate breads. "These were made by older students. Tell me what you think," said Marcus.
And Harry rated them: one was a bit grainy, for example, another too soft in the center, this one had too much of that extra flavoring, that one was too overwhelming in flavor, etc. And Marcus eagerly showed him why each one was good, or why each mistake had happened, going into a bit of what seemed to be the science behind it. As Marcus explained how all the different ingredients came together, Harry was definitely interested.
"Baking, even more than cooking," said Marcus, "is a tie between art and science experiment. We experiment with what tastes and ingredients work well together. We get creative - but we always have to remember the rules and the science.
"Best of all? You get to eat whatever you make at the end. A good motivation for making sure it tastes good.
"I'll take him," said Marcus suddenly, turning to Mindy. "I will teach him baking. He has a good head for the ideas behind it and a keen taste bud and observant eye when it comes to baked sweets. He knows what look he likes. He seems to love eating the stuff. And if he's to be believed, he has everything else it takes: a good memory, an ability to work fast, and a good sense of timing."
Mindy smiled. "So: baking it is." She was tallying new skills down on her clipboard. "Now, would you also like to learn tea-brewing?" she asked Harry. "We are English," she said with an amused smile, "and it's offered with both cooking and baking."
"Yeah. People don't make tea right often enough," Harry admitted, frowning.
Marcus and Mindy both smiled. Mindy started writing. "A tea snob," said Marcus. "Perfect." Harry smiled back.
Another girly specialization. His uncle and cousin would hate him. But his uncle and cousin already hated him, and Harry already hated them back, so there. He got to eat and that was good enough for him.
Next, Harry left the kitchens and headed to the art rooms. First he was tried at photography with a bespectacled, frizzy-haired woman, but he felt awkward taking pictures or asking for something to be moved or posed for him, and he was quickly taken away.
Next he was tried at painting in another art room. Mindy did this last bit herself. He was set in front of an easel and asked to paint from a landscape photograph. This was easy, nice and relaxing. He got to try to put in detail every single color he saw in that beautiful landscape, from the grey skies dotted with blue to the deep greens of the leaves. He got to focus on little details and shapes.
He wasn't sure how good he did - he had never painted before - but next at the art table the painting was taken away and pencil and paper were set in front of him. "Draw the first thing that comes to mind," said Mindy.
Harry paused - and then randomly began drawing Dudley's awful, bullying, spineless follower Piers with a vivid rat-face. A lot of anger came out into that particular drawing. He felt oddly better afterward.
"Do you picture people as other things often?" said Mindy thoughtfully at the end.
"I guess. I… can picture the absurd things becoming more absurd… really vividly," Harry tried to explain.
Mindy nodded and began scribbling things down.
"That's three and four," she said, looking up. "You talked a lot about weather and nature, your surroundings, and with your vivid observant eye I decided to try you at painting colorful landscapes. You passed with flying colors - pun not intended. You will learn how to paint your surroundings in colors in different styles. Eventually you will move on to things like people and objects as well."
Harry somehow couldn't see himself as an artsy painter, but he supposed he had just been one and it had been interesting… and he had been good at it. Girly and artsy. He was batting a thousand.
"Number four: cartoon style graphic design drawing. I noticed you portrayed the absurdities of people you live with or things you've seen in these really vivid descriptions - but you didn't seem like much of a writer or reader. So I decided to try you at cartoonist caricature drawing.
"That you also passed: with flying colors. Not only are you observant, your imaginative humor for the ridiculous is quite vivid. Your quiet, skeptical sarcasm works to your favor here."
Four whole skills. Harry might actually get this.
"And on the note of being observant…"
Mindy placed different photographs in front of Harry. They seemed to be fashion photographs.
"Do you like any of these?" she asked.
Harry pointed to the male model with long hair, an earring, and boots. "That's really cool," he admitted.
Mindy looked thoughtful. So other photographs were placed before Harry. Some were ordinary, some were fantastical. The ripped clothes stuck out to him, as did the tattoos, the dark eye makeup, the 60's and 70's flowy vintage colors, the Victorian era Gothic dress…
"Yeah, I see," said Mindy thoughtfully at last.
"You do? … See what?" said Harry, bewildered. "I'm usually not good at clothes."
"Correction: you're not good at conventional clothes," said Mindy. "Because they bore you. You revel in the unconventional. I wondered, because you talked really closely about different colors and textures as we spoke… So you have a good head for the basic elements of fashion, you talk automatically about different shades and types of cloth…
"Yes. I'm putting you down for counterculture fashion. Counterculture is like… anything rebel, strange, or alternative."
And she began scribbling away. A picture of Harry's future was forming, but it was not quite finished yet.
Next, on an inspiration, Mindy played different pieces of music for Harry there in the art classroom. "I like that one," said Harry suddenly, pointing at the stereo for a song.
"Ha! You do like the music that counterculture fashion comes from!" said Mindy, triumphant. "That's rock, classic rock, punk rock - yes. You have good senses, which means you must have good ears. I can't see someone who has excellent taste and keen eyes having terrible ears.
"So I'm putting you into music - guitar and songwriting. If it doesn't work, you have six weeks to switch out. Would you like to sing as well? If not, someone would have to perform your pieces," said Mindy absently, looking up. "Sing them, I mean."
"Well… I don't feel like much of a singer, but I like the idea of writing music… and I don't like the idea of someone else taking my stuff," Harry admitted. "Okay. I'll try singing as well."
"You might surprise yourself," said Mindy, scribbling again. "And… with the three music elements all together, which is how it should be done anyway… that's six!" She looked up and beamed triumphantly, dotting her paper.
"... Really? I'm in?" said Harry disbelievingly. "... Doing cool stuff on top of it all?"
"Yes! You're in!" Mindy grinned. "Figure skating, baking and tea-brewing, colorful surroundings paintings, cartoonist caricature-style graphic design drawings, counterculture rebel fashion styles, and guitar and singing and songwriting."
Beaming slowly, Harry realized he was safe at this school for the next five years.
Feeling lighter than air, he followed Mindy out of the art room, up the stairs in a kind of daze after all that testing and thinking…
And someone else walked up to Mindy, another adult. They whispered to her, then left. Harry stopped on a glass staircase landing in the Basement, puzzled.
Mindy turned to him. "Your cousin also passed, and has been put into a different set."
"Really?" said Harry disbelievingly, boggled. "What did he get?"
"Virtual video game design, acting, boxing, wrestling, filmmaking, and techno music creation.
"Don't worry. Between his different set and his disciplinary restrictions, and the terrible grades we received from his previous school which means academic catchup, you won't see much of him at first."
Video games, techno music, television, beating people up, and being good at what Uncle Vernon called "bullshitting" when it came from other people. Of course.
As Harry walked back up toward the entrance hall with Mindy, he admitted, "Everyone seems really nice here. Much nicer than in the Surrey city suburbs."
Mindy smiled wryly. "We hadn't talked to your aunt and uncle before letting you in here," she said. "No previous history. And we're getting the same money for both of you. Thank goodness, I have a feeling. I will definitely be putting some of this in my preliminary report.
"Don't worry, kid." She winked when Harry looked worried. "You'll end up looking good."
Harry shrank into himself a little when he saw the three Dursleys waiting for him in the entrance hall of the main house, up there in the real sunlight again amid the plush red carpets. Uncle Vernon was fuming, swelling, furious and red-faced, Dudley standing beside him looking triumphant.
Harry wondered if he could be pulled out of this after all - but Mindy looked calm and unfazed. She went to stand beside an equally calm Mrs Crawford.
"You people lied to us -!" Uncle Vernon spat. "We could sue -!"
"No, you couldn't," said Mrs Crawford. "Because we didn't lie. We told you everything we thought you needed to know, and we assumed you'd do more research.
"The information was always, Mr Dursley, for those with the wherewithal to look."
Uncle Vernon flinched.
"My son is not taking this silly nonsense!" Aunt Petunia shrieked. "All this acting and camera work and techno music nonsense -!"
"And computer technology, and boxing and wrestling, and excellent academic schooling? He won't be doing any of that either?" said Mrs Crawford dryly, raising her eyebrows.
This time it was Aunt Petunia who flinched back and was struck silent.
"It's all immaterial anyway, this whole argument," said Mindy, sounding annoyed and puzzled, much sharper and more crisp than a few minutes ago with Harry. "You've signed the paperwork, you've paid the money, they've passed. They're contractually required to attend. Surely as a businessman, Mr Dursley can appreciate this."
Uncle Vernon's cogs were turning, his temple working and his tiny dark eyes moving back and forth furiously. Harry knew as well as he did - the schooling was fine, some of the Dudley specializations were positively good by Dursley standards, and the bragging rights were still there.
"Fine," Uncle Vernon spat out, "they'll go." Harry was amazed and delighted, his heart skipping a beat. Dudley's mouth dropped open in horror - his parent failsafe had just in fact failed him. Presumably after all the in-test tantrums had failed him just the same.
For once, Dudley Dursley was struck silent.
"What did the boy get?" Uncle Vernon barked, jerking his head at Harry without looking at him.
Mindy told him. A cruel smile came over Uncle Vernon's face.
But the response wasn't at all the mocking Harry had steeled himself for and even expected. Something else seemed to be more important than this in Uncle Vernon's mind.
"And you don't seem to care what kind of… effect those sorts of classes might have on a person?" he asked in a kind of incredulous humor, still smiling that strange smile.
"Our classwork…? Mr Dursley, I can assure you, it's perfectly acceptable," said Mindy, sounding as confused as six year old Harry felt.
Uncle Vernon actually chuckled darkly.
"All right, fine. He won't be living with us. If Dudley's to be believed, he won't even be living with Dudley.
"Fine. Your consequences, your problem."
Uncle Vernon steered Dudley and Harry by the shoulders out the front door, Aunt Petunia following behind.
"You deal with him," Uncle Vernon snapped, and slammed the door in both confused women's faces.
Harry would think about that a lot. But he wouldn't realize its implications for a long time.
Author's Note: I graduated from college, I went through a self-identity crisis, and then I got a job. Sorry for the author hiatus. I've been going through a lot of changes. I hope this makes up for it.