The Stranger at My Door
23 March 2009
A week ago, a man moved into the empty house on Privet Drive. It was two houses away from the Dursleys and more than two hundred kilometers away from his previous home, according to Aunt Petunia. She speared her broccoli rather viciously during dinner one day and said with pursed lips, "You should see his car, Vernon. He's brought in the latest Ferrari. Apparently from where he came, everyone in the neighbourhood had one."
Since they first moved to Privet Drive, the Dursleys has always taken the coveted seat of 'most privileged' in the neighbourhood. With Vernon being a director to his own firm, he could afford certain luxuries the other neighbours couldn't, like the new plasma television, which everyone noticed through the living room windows.
But here came a man who was obviously much wealthier than everyone else; a man who could afford a Ferrari just because his ex-neighbours had one. The Dursleys resented him.
The mention of the luxurious car made Vernon harrumph with displeasure. He grunted that the Ferrari's loud engines would disturb the peace of the neighbourhood.
Harry found it terribly funny that although his relatives clearly disliked the man, they had invited him over for dinner tonight because "that was everyone else was doing" to welcome him to Privet Drive. What wasn't funny was that they had left the cleaning of the entire house to him.
"Not one speck of dust is to be found in this house. You hear me?" his aunt had threatened this morning, after thrusting the broom and mop into his weak 10-year old arms. "We can't have that snobbish man looking down on us just because our house is not spick and span. No sirree."
It was now six in the evening. The Dursleys were expecting their guest in one hour and the house was as clean as it would ever be. Harry leant against the wall, sweating in buckets and tired beyond memory. Petunia slapped him on the head, screeching that he was leaving his stink in the corridor. "Get into the cupboard and stay there!" she snarled.
"But I -"
"Now!"
Harry knew full well that the Dursleys were below rewarding him for any sort of effort on their behalf. But at the very least, he thought they would let him have something to eat for cleaning their junk the whole day. Clearing out Dudley's stuff would make even the hardiest maid cry. Harry sighed, entering his cupboard but before he could even close the door, he heard a screech so shrill it made the hair on the back of his neck stand.
Vernon came stumbling into the kitchen with shaving cream sliding down his neck. "What is it? What is it?" he panicked. Harry noticed that his uncle's hair was shinier than usual and was plastered to the side of his head like he covered his comb with glue before using it. A vain effort to look more presentable.
"Dessert!" hollered Petunia. "I completely forgot about it! I meant to pick up pudding at the confectionary today but it would be closed by now!"
Vernon let out a sigh of distress as he scratched his chin. Harry wasn't sure if he should laugh or not. He rarely ever saw his relatives in such anguish and when they were, it certainly wasn't over dessert. Their new neighbour must've made quite the impression on them if impressing him meant so much to them.
"Oh wait! What about Dudley's cupcakes? It was for his lunch tomorrow but..." Petunia dived towards the fridge while Vernon nodded enthusiastically. Yes, yes. Cupcakes will do. Better cupcakes than nothing at all. Their neighbour might think that they didn't have enough money for dessert! "Where are they? Where are the cupcakes?"
"Eh? The cupcakes?" said Dudley, thumping down the stairs in a ridiculous penguin suit that made Harry dive into his cupboard so that nobody would see him shaking with laughter. "I already ate those. Weren't they for me?"
Harry remained in his cupboard so that his aunt wouldn't get any weird ideas pertaining to him in her delirium; like make him go door to door, asking their neigbours if they had any dessert to spare for their dinner. Fortunately for him, the chaos halted for a while when the doorbell rang.
"It's him!" hissed Petunia in panic. "Vernon, get the door."
"I can't!" replied her husband, pointing to the shaving cream on his chin. "I'm not ready yet! You get it!"
Petunia wrung her hands. "I'm not dressed properly yet! Dudley, get the door!" she wailed before running up to get changed. But Dudley, who didn't feel like being bossed around, pulled open the door of Harry's cupboard and said, "You get it, cousin."
"But -"
"I'm going to the kitchen."
"Dudley, I -"
The doorbell rang again.
"Mom's not going to like it if she knew you kept our guest waiting on the porch."
Dudley disappeared into the kitchen before Harry could properly explain that Petunia wouldn't want their esteemed neighbour - or anyone else for that matter - seeing him in this state: sweaty and filthy. Left with no choice however, Harry sighed and opened the door.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Harry said politely, "but you caught us off guard. We weren't expecting you just yet." Harry looked at the man's shoes, afraid that if he looked up, he would be punished for acting insolent. The man was wearing loafers. Expensive leather ones. "Come in."
But the man remained on the porch in his expensive shoes and tailored pants. He stood for the longest moment before getting on his knees and lowering his head so he could get a good look at Harry. Harry blinked, wide eyes not comprehending. He saw a strong nose, blue eyes and bright blond hair, swept back across the head. He saw a soft smile and was surprised, because no one in this neighbourhood had ever smiled like that at him before.
For the first time, he met his new neighbour and realised that the other man was devastatingly good-looking. The man looked him in the eye and breathed, "It's you."
When Petunia came down in her salmon pink cocktail dress, she nearly shrieked when she saw the new neighbour hugging her sweat-soaked nephew. "Oh my -! Mr. Malfoy! What are you doing out on the porch! Please come in!" she said in a high pitch that belied her shock.
The man released Harry and wrinkled his nose. "You stink. What on earth have you been doing?"
Harry just stood there dumfounded. You just hugged me, what do you think YOU'RE doing? But he kept his mouth shut and closed the door dutifully after the man stepped in. He saw his aunt greet the man almost too politely but from the corner of her eye, she glared at him.
I will deal with you later, was her silent message. Get in the cupboard.
"Harry, where are you going? Are you not joining us for dinner?" asked the blond man. He raised a confused eyebrow. "Were you on your way into the cupboard?"
Before Harry could say anything, Petunia stepped in. "No, no, of course not. Well, you see, my nephew isn't feeling very well today. So he can't join us, I'm afraid."
The man cast a discerning eye over Petunia, whose smile became even more plastic. "Is that so? Get well soon then, Harry."
Petunia shooed Harry up to Dudley's second room as both Vernon and Dudley came down the stairs and greeted their guest. Harry ascended the stairs, keeping his eye on the blond man called Malfoy. And just before he disappeared into the second floor, he was one hundred percent sure that Malfoy had raised his blue eyes and smirked.
"Mrs. Dursley," Harry heard him say. "Your house is immaculate."
=0=
His name was Draco Malfoy. No one knew exactly where he came from but the neighbourhood gossipmongers speculated that he probably came from the west. Exeter, maybe?
Nobody knew why he decided to move to a quiet place like Surrey and into a house that he claimed was seven times smaller than his previous home. Yet there he was, looking rather out of place amongst the suburban, assuming folk of Privet Drive.
No one really knew what to make of their new neighbour, who was really too good to be true. Not only was he filthy rich, but he had dashing good looks and a pristine house. It was strange since no one's ever seen him doing housework or employ anyone to do it. But because he had so many good qualities to him, the people of Privet Drive allowed him a few oddities, like the peacock that was running over his perfect lawn.
Harry loved that peacock. No one else in Privet Drive had pets - aside from some boring fish and the rare terrapin (Mrs. Figgs's cats don't count) - so Harry took a quick liking to the excitable bird. As a rule, Harry wasn't allowed to associate himself with the neighbours, aside from the cat lady Arabella Figg, who was currently on a holiday at the Bahamas. With human companionship out of the question, Harry resorted to the bird to relieve his boredom whenever Vernon and Petunia decided to let him out of the house.
Of course, Harry never entered Malfoy's lawn. He would never hear the end of it from Petunia if he dared trespass. He usually dangled his hand over the picket and waited for Coo the peacock to come over and demand a pat on the head.
Coo, Harry decided, was like him. A freak. Like Harry, Coo could do things that didn't have an explanation. Sometimes, when Coo ran around, mushrooms would sprout from the ground where his feet had been. Harry would like to believe that it was magic. He liked to believe that he too was capable of magic. That was why his hair kept growing back no matter how many times his aunt cut it. A pathetic proof but there you go.
He was kneeling on the pavement patting Coo one day when Mr. Malfoy approached him. He patted Harry on the shoulder surprising the boy so much, Harry hit Coo, which led to the peacock nipping his hand hard.
"Mr. Malfoy! I'm so sorry! I didn't hear your car coming..." Harry trailed off. There was no car. The Ferrari was missing. So how did Mr. Malfoy arrive home? He didn't walk, did he?
Mr. Malfoy didn't bother answering him. He grabbed Harry by the arm and lifted him to his feet. "Come in. I'll see what I can do about that wound of yours. It's bleeding. Shame on you, Coo."
The peacock bowed its head and nudged at Harry in apology.
"It's okay, Coo," assured Harry as he hurried after Mr. Malfoy into the house. Petunia was going to have his head for this but he didn't feel like turning down Mr. Malfoy's kindness.
It's been three days since Mr. Malfoy came over for dinner. Much to Petunia's relief, he didn't say anything about the lack of dessert. But he did mention that Dudley reminded him of his pet whale back home. Mr. Malfoy became Harry's hero after that. It was nice to know that someone else agreed that Dudley was too fat to be healthy.
Still, Harry stood by his opinion that this blond man was rather strange. Harry may not be an expert in social norms, but people just don't go hugging one another on their first meeting, did they? And funniest of all, Harry didn't even remember telling Mr. Malfoy his name.
Harry followed Mr. Malfoy into his sitting room where the blond man patted the space next to him on the sofa. Harry sat next to him obediently, taking care not to bleed on the carpet. Mr. Malfoy took out a stick of wood and upon noticing Harry's look of confusion, explained that he was a wizard. He promptly healed the wound on Harry's hand and put away his wand.
Maybe I'm dreaming, thought Harry. Magical sticks of wood definitely belong in the same dream as flying motorcycles.
"What time is you aunt and uncle expecting you home?" asked Mr. Malfoy.
"Not for another two hours," replied Harry.
He saw Mr. Malfoy run a hand through his hair and sigh. He frowned. Did he do something to upset the other man? "You know," said Mr. Malfoy, his head propped up by the arm on his knee, "I've always heard that your life before Hogwarts was terrible. I just didn't expect it to be this bad."
Harry blinked. What? Hogwarts? What was that? Was that Mr. Malfoy's business firm?
Mr. Malfoy chuckled to himself. "Never mind. Would you like to watch some television? I just got myself a set recently. Nothing but Muggle channels, I'm afraid. Completely rubbish but some of your folk seem to enjoy it."
Harry didn't completely comprehend what Mr. Malfoy said but he nodded anyway. He never got the chance to watch television when the Dursleys were around, so why not? Mr. Malfoy switched on the set for him and conjured some drinks out of thin air. Harry watched in amazement as Mr. Malfoy poured some yellow liquid from his stick of wood into two glasses. "Butterbeer. I hope you don't mind."
"How do you do that?" asked the ebony-haired child rather bluntly.
"It's not hard," said Mr. Malfoy. "First, you need a wand." He lifted his stick of wood. "And then you have to go to Hogwarts, where witches and wizards will tell you how to use magic. Stuff like this is a piece of cake," he assured.
"A wand," repeated Harry. "Will any stick of wood do?"
Mr. Malfoy laughed. "No. You need to buy one. Not everyone can make wands from a stick of wood. It requires skill and knowledge way beyond your ten years of Muggle lifestyle."
Harry scowled. "I don't know what a Muggle is but I don't like the sound of it."
"Neither would I were I in your situation. The Muggles at your house are horrible. Were I any less mature, I would've turned them into frogs!"
Harry imagined Vernon and Petunia croaking on the dinner table and chuckled. "But make Dudley a pig!" The two of them shared a laugh, ignoring the game show that was playing on the television screen. They chatted a while, mostly humorous small talk. When Harry fell silent, Mr. Malfoy switched off the television set but said nothing. "Why are you so nice to me?" Harry wondered aloud.
Mr. Malfoy smiled at him. "I think you better leave. It's getting late."
Harry hopped off the sofa and bade Mr. Malfoy goodbye. Within the span of an hour, Mr. Malfoy had grown larger in Harry's eyes. But so has the mystery surrounding him. Although they talked, Harry had learnt nothing important about him. Although Mr. Malfoy showed him magic and explained about the wand, he refused to say anything more about it.
Harry patted Coo on the head and took off for Number 4. He looked back and saw Mr. Malfoy waving at him from the window.
The next morning, Harry saw Mr. Malfoy sitting in the Dursley's kitchen, drinking coffee and dressed to go out. He saw Harry emerge from the cupboard under the stairs in his pajamas, which consisted of a shirt so big, one side of the collar slipped over, exposing a bare shoulder. Mr. Malfoy leaned over for a better look, eyes blinking wide. "Harry, were you sleeping in there?"
Petunia's fake shrill laughter made both Mr. Malfoy and Harry shudder. "Boys," she laughed. "They always like a little bit of adventure. It's how I let Harry have his little bit of fun."
Yeah, right. Harry shuffled into the kitchen when the smell of burnt eggs wafted. You'd rather choke than let me have a little bit of fun.
"Harry," said Petunia 'happily'. Harry became afraid. His aunt's smile was too fake and showed far too many teeth. "Mr. Malfoy is going into London today and has kindly invited you to go along with him. Of course, he would much rather take Dudley but Diddykins already has a play date with his friends. You know how popular he is. So I want you to go upstairs, take a bath and come back down as quickly as possible. Mr. Malfoy has been waiting for half an hour for you to wake up, you know. I would've woken you up but Mr. Malfoy is such a gentleman that he said I should let you sleep in since it's a Saturday-"
Harry trudged up the stairs before Petunia finished rambling. No doubt he would get a lashing later for his impertinence but he didn't really care at the moment. He was going to London! With Mr. Malfoy!
=0=
"Are you sure you want to take Harry, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Petunia, more than a little bit worried. "He really is a rather ill-mannered child, much as I regret to say."
She stopped talking when Mr. Malfoy fixed his gaze on her. His eyes were blazing, though she wasn't quite sure why. He uncrossed his arms. "Yes, I am sure, Mrs. Dursley," he said, barely able to contain the scathing remark on the tip of his tongue. "I'm sure Harry would make a most delightful companion."
He had spent years researching the method and procedure of the spell. He had come back so many years. He had risked everything so that he could see Harry Potter again. He felt like cursing the woman into a toad but as the tiny 10-year old boy hopped down the stairs in his best clothes - two sizes too big for him and colours that had faded beyond recognition - Mr. Malfoy stood up and smiled brilliantly.
"Let's go, Harry."
I'll take you far, far away where no one can hurt you.
To be continued..