Ordinary.
By Em.
Authors note: I hope that people reading this enjoy it as much as I have.
Disclaimer: I am not the owner of any of the characters or any of the places. As many fanfic authors say, I am just taking them all for a spin. The characters and their personalities were made up by the renowned JKR. Whom I'm sure you're all familiar with.
It was another typical sunny Sunday afternoon on private drive. Every husband was mowing their front lawn while their wives trimmed the flowerbeds only to stop momentarily to check on whatever they were baking. Children were playing in the middle of the street, only to stop as some flashy car drove by. Water guns were in abundance, coming out on one of the few occasions that England's weather permitted it. This was everywhere on private drive, except number four. The street considered the occupants of this house to be rather odd and barely spoke to them save to get some gossip or if there was no other way about it. The Durselys themselves blamed this on their Nephew Harry. They thought that it was his freakiness, his oddness, his magic that set them apart from everyone else. Of course this was not actually the case. Of what they saw of poor little Harry they thought nothing of the sort, although they did not necessarily like him. I mean who would like some skinny, smelly, badly dressed and groomed boy that always got himself into trouble and had no friends? What I mean is, that they pitied him. This of course was not such a strong emotion that they would baby-sit the boy, they didn't want their perfect little houses to smell like him. Offering to baby-sit would also mean that they would have to talk to the Durselys and I think we all know now that that was unlikely to happen.
So what was it that the occupants of private drive disliked so much about the Durselys? For starters each and every one of them considered themselves ordinary, loving families that visited and looked after their relations and here were the Durselys treating their nephew, their own blood, like he was dirt. No normal family did that. Unless the child did something disgraceful, but how could a baby do something to disgust them so and induce their disrespect, even their hate? They were also lazy. They delegated chores this way and that to their nephew, this was not at all how it was supposed to be. A man mows the lawn on Sunday afternoons, not his eight-year-old nephew. A loving wife and mother makes the breakfast or cleans the house, not her nephew. They were very odd indeed.
Of course these are not the only things that set them apart. No, not at all. It was their son. Their big, fat, lazy, troublemaker of a son, who acted like he owned the street. Their son who threw televisions out of his bedroom window; their son who had crying tantrums still at the age of fourteen. This was not normal behaviour at all. Then there was the shouting. Private drive was a quiet street, especially at night. There were a few normal, proper families along with old people whose children had left home. At number four for as long as most people could remember, there had been load shouts piercing through the windows. It was 'Harry this, Harry that. Go to your cupboard now, no supper tonight.' The list goes on. What was most striking was the constant use of the word cupboard. Those few people who had been cornered by Petunia into having a cup of tea, found out that the use of the word cupboard was indeed true and not the muffling of a wall or window pane that altered the real word. It quite soon became common knowledge on the street that Harry slept in the small cupboard under the stairs.
Being a normal road in Britain, the houses had all been built at the same time and to the same design, so the knowledge of there being four bedrooms upstairs was quite well known. Why did Harry have to live under the stairs? Did Vernon and Petunia sleep in separate rooms? How could anyone, however small fit into such a space? Rumours began to circulate and get more and more unbelievable as time went on. One of the wildest rumours, or really story, was one told amongst the children. The oldest children used to say that if you passed number four when no adult were near, they'd grab you before you could even hear them coming and lock you under the stairs forever and ever. Then of course there were the newly erected bars at one of the upstairs windows and the bruises that would appear on Harry now and again and his unnatural skinniness compared to his lump of a cousin.
Well, it was on this sunny summers day that Harry Potter was mowing the lawn like everyone else, then he was going to trim the flowerbeds and water them and do some weeding. Then, if he was lucky he'd get a break before he cleaned the house. His cousin was inside as always, enjoying one of many new computer games involving carnage and mayhem and he would occasionally give a load whoop of joy as he blew something's limbs off. The day wore on at a surprisingly slow pace and beads of sweat began to grace Harry's forehead as he sweltered in the unaccustomed heat, only to disappear as clouds began to form and hide the sun, making the breeze chill his skin. The earlier thoughts of wanting snow were soon replaced with the longing for the scorching sun to come back. It was time to go in.
It was when he was at last sitting down at the dining room table after finishing his chores, still with the polish and duster in each hand. The coolness of the mahogany blissful against his now slightly burnt skin and the relief of a rest were as overwhelming as it always was after a day as a slave to the Durselys. His Uncle burst through the front door, clearly in a flummox.
"Boy. Get here now." He called, not wanting to waste time as he put his briefcase on the floor and put his coat on the stand by the door. Harry, as obedient as ever quickly got up and stashing the cleaning materials in a small cupboard-stand went to his uncle. "The firm is just about to go ahead with a deal with a very prestigious accountant firm, who, if the deal goes ahead, will save the company thousands. Their vice president is coming over to tea tonight, where afterwards we will be discussing very important things. I expect you to dress well and greet our guest courteously. You will not speak unless spoken to directly. You will keep your head down. You will serve yourself last and you will serve yourself the minimal possible amount. This is so that our guest may divulge in seconds. Straight after the meal you will clear the table while Petunia makes coffee and tea and you will proceed to wash up. You will then excuse yourself and head to Dudley's second room, which he has graciously allowed you to sleep in since you went to that freakish place of yours. You will stay there until called for in the morning, that is final." There was a brief period of silence until Harry realised that his uncle was finished with his speech.
"Yes uncle Vernon." Mr Dursely cringed at the word 'uncle', but decided not to pursue the matter, because the boy was being obedient. Then, after another speech about Harry keeping his freakishness under wraps, he let the boy go help Petunia finish making the tea. It was steak and kidney pie tonight and his wife was very good at making pastry. Very good indeed and Vernon was personally looking forward to the evening meal. That is, of course, if the boy didn't mess things up.
The hands on the mantelpiece clock moved to read six thirty, the time their guest was supposed to arrive. Harry had been stationed at the foot of the stairs for at least half an hour, ready to greet their guest and his wife and he was getting quite bored. He was dressed in one of Dudley's better cast offs that his aunt had taken in slightly so as to impress. His hair was over brushed and wetted down slightly so as to make it more manageable, but a few tufts of hair stood disobediently out of place. Not that this didn't surprise anyone; on the contrary, his relatives liked the excuse to shout at him. The doorbell rang three seconds later. It was almost as if the guests had timed their arrival so much that they intended to be there the moment the hands clicked six thirty, but the two clocks were a few seconds out of each others time.
Immediately Harry sprung to his feet and opened the door with his face downcast and after greeting them he took their coats and hung them up. By this time Vernon arrived on the scene with his large son Dudley in tow. Harry left the hall and headed to the kitchen, his task done and his next task about to start. He almost felt like backing up and bowing as he went because his relatives were acting like the guests were royalty in a grovelling way that reminded him very much of Peter Petigrew. It was about fifteen minutes later that Vernon showed the guests to the dining room with the big mahogany table that Harry polished so well that it reflected everything. Harry fancied that if it were day everyone would have to wear sunglasses. The best china and the best-plated silverware along with crystal glass's and white napkins in art Nouvou style napkin holders and two lit, white candles and bowls and bowls of food adorned the table's surface. Petunia stood by the door, her hands clasped in front of her as she looked at hers (and Harry's) work with a proud satisfaction. Not that she'd give her Nephew any credit.
"Welcome." She said emphatically. "I'm sorry that I haven't seen you sooner, I've been rather busy in the kitchen." With that she gestured towards the table. A few minutes later everyone was seated, ready to start, each of them extremely hungry. "Mr Ludlow Would you like to start?" Petunia asked. And then the eating commenced.
It was when Mrs Ludlow Had finished serving herself and needed the gravy that things began to get interesting.
"Um, you there. Harry, is it? Could you please pass me the gravy boat?" She asked almost hesitantly, probably due to Vernon badmouthing Harry to them. Obediently he picked it up and passed it to her with his head held high so as to see what he was doing. I said that it was then that things got interesting, because upon seeing Harry's face for the first time Mr Ludlow Gasped and dropped his cutlery onto his plate making a little crash and sending bits of the steak and kidney pies filling to his face and clothes. Suffice as to say Mr Dursely did not look too happy with his nephew at this moment, thinking that it was his freakiness that had created such a noration.
"Terribly sorry" Mr Ludlow said whilst not taking his eyes off of the boy. "You just look remarkably like someone I know." He paused to gage everyone's reactions and seeing that more of an explanation was needed carried on. " I was startled you see." Then that was that and the meal commenced with much chatter, yet every now and then everyone would chance a glance at the submissive and quiet boy, each for various reasons and one guest in particular kept glancing at a lightening bolt scar on his forehead.
Everyone around the table had finished their mains and were sitting quite content. Harry on the other hand was busy clearing the table and trying to stop his stomach from rumbling, because he'd barely had enough to keep his owl alive. After the incident Mrs Ludlow had tried to get the gravy off of her husbands face and the clothes to little avail. Since then nothing eventful had happened and although Harry could feel the occasional set of eyes upon him, he was not spoken to. In-fact he wasn't even asked to clear the table, but he knew it was expected of him and the glare or rather silent threat Harry's Uncle was giving him was more that a signal to do it.
It was when everything was stacked up in neat piles in the kitchen and the table was completely clear that Petunia excused herself from the table at all. One sharp bark of an order and Harry was scurrying around getting the dessert bowls and cutlery out. The one thing that his Aunt did actually do was get the extremely large trifle out of the fridge. Visions of him dropping it like he did just before his second year kept flashing across her mind and she could not afford her masterpiece to end up in the bin and her antique crystal bowl to be broken. So she carried the exceeding large desert into the room with an extremely hungry and laden down Harry in tow.
As the two emerged from the kitchen all polite chatter slowed to a standstill. Dudley's little eyes widened and almost popped out of his pig-like face as he eyed up the substantial dessert. The Ludlow's seemed pleasantly pleased, yet their postures betrayed their heavy bloatedness. Vernon on the other hand was beaming at his wife, but spared a moment to scowl at his nephew.
Harry, being under the watchful gaze of his Uncle, decided to only take a moderate amount. Thankfully Mr Ludlow spoke up.
"Now boy, take a bit more. Your Aunt has been slaving over that for god knows how long." Hesitantly he took some more and smiled gratefully at his saviour. "That's it. I'm sure a growing boy such as yourself could take a little bit more than that." He encouraged, but a glance at Vernon suggested that he not.
"No thank you Mr Ludlow, I daren't take anymore, what I've got is quite enough." Harry knew he'd said the right thing because his uncle's glare softened slightly.
"Nonsense, my boy. Here." And with that he dished some more into the bowl. "I'm sure you can manage it, you barely ate a thing during the main course. We don't want to waste any of your Aunts delicious food after she spent all that time on it." Mrs Dursely blushed slightly at this point and Mr Dursely went slightly red, although I'm quite positive he wasn't blushing. "Call me Leonard by the way. We shall have none of this last name nonsense. Eat up." And that was that.
The name Leonard struck a cord with Harry though, but he didn't know why and Mr Ludlow's face did seem ever so slightly familiar, yet he just couldn't quite put his finger on why. Leonard the redheaded accountant was a definite enigma. So familiar and yet so very new indeed.
Who is Mr Ludlow? How does he recognise Harry? What is Mr Dursely going to do? Why does Harry recognise him? What happens next?
Thank you for reading.
Thus ends the first instalment.