--- CHAPTER ONE –--
Summer at the Dursley's
That cold morning in the third week of the summer holidays was one of the moodiest in Little Whinging, Surrey, that Sunday. It had started with little crops, developed in a fierce rain, and was now displaying bright rays of sunlight that peered shyly thought the tiny kitchen windows at number four Privet Drive. The weather conditions were 'unpredictable' this July as it was, described as so by the Britain Meteorological Service.
Yet, what Harry Potter would like to believe made this day the strangest in his life was not the weather, but the absolutely awkward situation in which he was now introduced. From whichever point of view, it could only be described as abnormal:
Having breakfast, sitting by the table in the Dursley's small but cozy kitchen, and being served his raw toast, made by Aunt Petunia rather than himself, was definitely NOT an usual occurrence at Privet Drive. Reading news from the Wizarding World in the Daily Prophet – the wizards' paper – by Uncle Vernon's side, while the last watched him warningly, peering thought the top of his muggle (that's to say no-magical people's) newspaper like he was bomb about to explode, but not quite commenting on him, was even more odd. (Not that he didn't look like having the intention to, Harry decided, as Uncle Vernon sneered at him for the eleventh time that morning and opened his mouth to speak but keep quiet the second, after taking wide gulps of air, like he had done all the last eleven times before that.) And to have Dudley Dursley, his big, fat bulling cousin, eyeing him in the corner of his eyes, above his over sized bone cheeks, looking like fascinated by the moving pictures in the front page, was downright bizarre.
Harry would never dream, in his wildest, most impossible fantasies, to be in this situation at number 4 Privet Drive.
You see, Harry's only living relatives, the Dursleys, are a small family which love what they would call "normality" above all. So, as you might suppose, having their sixteen-year-old wizard relative in their same house was divine torture and so, of course, being-what-he-was was enough reason to hate him rotten. Or fear him, which was the case.
Even being what he was, and having acquaintances that were it too, Harry thought they were mildly exaggerating. But Harry could not care less what was happening in their heads that sunny morning, as he turned the page of the Daily Prophet and came across the article he was looking for:
FUDGE RUNNING FOR MINISTER OF MAGIC THE UPCOMING ELECTIONS.
Our current Minister of Magic, Mr Cornelius Fudge, is planning his re-election in the choosing of the representatives for the highest position at the Ministry, that are to be held next August the 15th. Fudge thinks that the Wizarding World would eventually understand and forgive his earlier errors and let him be of use to the community and the Ministry of Magic. The pools don't favorer him. Yet, the Minister is already planning his plans of action, and is willingly to take the job for another 4 years…
Harry snorted aloud. It was difficult to conceal the thought that someone will be dumb enough to vote Fudge after the whole 'there's no Voldemort' fiasco that he had carried out last year. The photo in the cover, though little, reflected just barely the embarrassment the Minister of Magic should have been feeling when it was taken, for the fine suit was torn in the edges and the Fudge in it was correcting his posture every two minutes. It was clear that Fudge would have to work a lot harder in his campaign this time to have people's support again.
Harry bit his tasteless toast while straightening the paper to read, ignoring his relatives' suspicious stares. He smiled to himself as he could feel the Dursley's piercing looks at him while he made as if he kept on reading an advertisement on cauldrons and diplomatic measures with muggles – so far, nothing more interesting on the Prophet.
It wasn't secret that Harry liked making the Dursleys as uncomfortable as they did to him. They have made Harry's life impossible since he came to live in there sixteen years ago. However, despite having to endure being in his only living relatives' house at the moment, he was on a relative good mood that morning.
It wasn't many times that he could spend quality time with these people and actually enjoy himself. Not to say, downright impossible. Though, of course, having the Dursleys so freaked out about Harry's mere presence was quite helpful and entertaining; it had been quite a show the first week. Specially with all that looks over the shoulders, looking for a member of the Order of the Phoenix that could pop out from under the table, or out of the chimney (though, Harry would have to give them some credit in that guessing).
But Harry was somewhat relaxed and contented, and he had to thanks the good sleep for that. He had been dreaming that he was falling backwards, with the icy cold breeze blowing at the back of his head, when, then, he looked up at the bright, cloudless sky and saw a thousand flying snitches hovering over him. It was an overwhelming sight. It was as if they were birds; light birds, or fireflies, being set free and flying eagerly in that blue, fine sky. Dancing hysterically to him, one after the other. Something in Harry's mind screamed; is the snitch, you had to catch the snitch! He tried to reach one of those tiny spheres of golden light with feeble fingers – his arms felt so tired. They were so close. He could almost touch...
And then Uncle Vernon startled him by knocking at the door for breakfast. The dream had been so real that he had to wait several minutes to calm his breathing and stable his weak ankles; Harry had even been even sweating. It just remind him of how much he liked flying, and how he could not wait to be in the air again, given he had been deprived to do so last year, which he recognized as a great lost now that he had to go back to play Quidditch for the Gryffindor team.
So that morning he had sat at the kitchen lazily; not having the least intention of doing any work, and getting up only when an owl bringing the Wizarding news appeared a the kitchen window.
Harry also had to thank his good mood on the Daily Prophet, as he was appreciating its change of attitude in its articles. The fact that his relatives didn't press him on about his lack of action (out of fear, Harry supposed) had not been as cheering. He had just found one at the top page explaining the prosecution of several Death Eaters that were found in the early June at the foot of the same building of the Ministry of Magic, at the Department of Mysteries floor.
As he turned the page he came across a funny looking picture which he didn't really dwelled about much as he started with the headlines, still a smile pasted to his face.
Harry made the three other occupants of Privet Drive jump in their chair and sent tea cups flying when, spitting this coffee all over the table, he stated, 'WHAT – NO!'
The commotion that followed the sudden outburst went like this: Aunt Petunia let out a cry looking outraged, Dudley cowered behind the table and Uncle Vernon started growling, 'BOY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU – YOU CANNOT –'
But Harry had turned his hearing off and was reading the title of the article over and over again. And just to confirm his thoughts, on the bottom of the funny looking photograph was a small comment saying 'LUCIUS MALFOY FOUND INNOCENT. SAYS HE WAS SET UP AND NOW IS IN HIS WAY TO THE MANOR.' And sure it was that the picture showed a hooked Lucius Malfoy, trying to pull the silk of his coat in an attempt to cover his face while entering a dark-looking awaiting carriage in which, Harry could swear he had seen the snobbish, sneering, pointed face of his son Draco.
Harry could almost curse out loud in frustration and send things flying to simply smash them to the walls, if not for the fact that he could not make himself believe it. His uncle was still rambling loudly in a voice that was much alike an old, noisy car motor that won't start for good; and Harry finally got the self control to shoot him no more than an angry glare that surely did his magic. Uncle Vernon, probably taken aback by this, shut it for a few seconds, giving Harry time for re-reading the article title that spoke 'Lucius Malfoy Free. Cleared Of All Charges.'
Uncle Vernon was about to found his tongue again when, this time, it was Harry who started, furiously,
'How! I cannot believe it! How they let that man walk free, they found him there, with a Death Eater mask – surrounded by all other Death Eaters! How – how on earth could he make it out – free from all charges!'
He paced up and down the kitchen floor with the Dursleys looking totally lost, for Harry's raging mumblings probably came out like something totally incomprehensible to the them.
'Is the Ministry daft! How can they – make that murderer walk free! Stupid – bribed – FOOLS!' Harry shouted with a range he hadn't found in the last three weeks, clenching the Prophet so hard in his hand Fudge's photo in the front cover cowered in fear as if he was in a tramp with two walls closing up on him.
Harry shoved the paper halfway tore to two away. Just then – and as Uncle Vernon was doing yet another attempt to tell Harry off about this shameful behavior – a soft hooting and a scratching of glass diverted Harry's attention to the snowy owl at the kitchen window.
'Just in time!' Harry beamed at his pet owl Hedwig. Letting her in the more comfortable atmosphere of the room, it took a matter of seconds to him to reach quill and parchments and start scribing frantically the names of the addressee. It was then that he realized the mistake he had made: Harry had already wrote the names 'Hermione' and 'Ron' down when in his haste he took the third piece of parchment out of his school bag. He looked down unfocusedly at the blank page feeling utterly stupid. A light shock made his hand quiver briefly, the quill touching the sheet feathery, barely scratching it. For a split second it seemed a lump at his throat was increasing in size and, prickling, tears were threatening their way out from sore eyes, pulling with all their might an extra weight at the front of his face.
Hedwig's hooting at his side awakened Harry from his trance. Looking up Harry discovered his relatives quite unshelled, cowering in a corner, but he was quite unperturbed about it.
The cold was biting up Harry's motionless fingers which now laid on the table as he paused to think properly. The window was ajar and letting new small crops in as the sky darkened outside. Harry looked up and down again, and started writing his letters.
They both said the same: talked about the article, his frustration, and a quick note pleading for news, but he did not hope for much. All in all, the letters were written in which Harry would understand as a friendly-like style, with lots of unnecessary and quite pitiful comments like those Aunt Petunia made when talking to neighbors; apart from that, they were ok. Harry became truly excited by the prospect of receiving an answer with any bit of information that he could make his hand on.
Harry made his way towards Hedwig, determined to get those letters to his friends as soon as possible – while hearing in the background yet not minding his aunt's upset whispering and his uncle's fuming mumblings that were becoming each time louder, so that Harry got a hint of what they were discussing, which was of course Harry himself.
When he reached her leg to fasten the messages, however, Harry took notice of something else tied to Hedwig's leg. A large, thick, yellowish envelope with funny writing at the top, scarlet seal and tied with a golden lace.
While he stared transfixed to the paper in his hands, uncle Vernon asked, a sneer plastered in his face, something about being expulsed again and for good. But Harry didn't respond for he knew exactly what this letter was:
His OWLs' results.
Remembering just vaguely having received a request to send his personal or familiar owl to the Ministry with a sighed permission from Harry's tutor so he could pick up his results, but Harry recalled nothing about having them delivered back by wizard post.
Without another word he run to his bedroom, closely followed by Hedwig, taking no notice of his uncle's old roar with his ever-so boring threats that were, probably, the most common occurrence of the day. The last of the shouting died away (something about 'owls flying inside the house!') as Harry closed the door shut.
Harry's little, uncomfortable room looked alike what he imagined were like the house-elf dens. Its appearance was probably due to the fact that it hadn't been cleaned in weeks, since he remembered, not one thing was in place and Harry had to admit it was starting to stink a little. Yet this place should be the closest Harry had for a sanctuary.
Once there, Hedwig sat on her perch and Harry in his bed, he fidgeting the envelope nervously. What if he didn't pass the necessary amount of OWLs he required to become an Auror? He supposed he'd have to choose another career; one that would fix his grades and capacities. He could imagine McGonagall's, his Transfiguration professor, disappointed expression if that was the case, gaining a plumbing sensation in his stomach that he easily recognized.
Harry looked at the pastel material once more and found out most of the previous nervousness had washed over him all too quickly. He started ripping the material apart.
Inside, as he expected, was an extra short letter and his examination results. Harry threw the first piece of parchment (the welcome and advertising notice) casually over his shoulders and stared at the second letter that read:
ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL EXAMITATION PAPER
Authorized by the Educational Minister of Magic: Mr Mitchflick, Sloan K.
Wizarding Examination Authority: Professor Marchbanks, Griselda A.
Examiners:
- Professor Griselda A. Marchbanks.
- Professor Maximillian B. Tofty.
- Professor Tiberius Ogden.
- Professor Angeline C. Kartwide.
NAME OF CANDIDATE: HARRY J. POTTER Nº: 347089
SECONDARY LEVEL AT: HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF
WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
SUJECT: THEORY: PRACTICAL: AVERAGE:
. ARITHMANCY: -- -- --
. ASTRONOMY: / A - A
. CARE OF THE MAGICAL
CREATURES: / O - O
. CHARMS: E A+ E
. DEFENSE AGAINST DARK ARTS: O O O
. DIVINATION: / P P
. HERBOLOGY: / A+ A
. HISTORY OF MAGIC: D / D
. MUGGLE STUDIES: -- -- --
. POTIONS: O - O O
. STUDY OF ANCIENT RUNES: -- -- --
. TRANSFIGURATION: A + E E
CHART REFERENCIES:
O: Outstanding
E: Exceeded Expectations.
A: Acceptable
P: Poor
D: Dreadful-- : ( Didn't Showed Up )
Harry read the results over and over again. He couldn't believe nor understand the fate that has given him an Outstanding at Potions. Was not that stunned about his grades Herbology or Astronomy, and was utterly pleased with himself about his other two Outstanding 's in DADA and CMC. He also found it particularly funny his Dreadful at his History of Magic examination; imagining Hermione's lectures when she found out. But Harry could not blame the examiners in the slightness: he was not paying attention particularly in the subject at that time…
That was because Harry had had a vision at that same moment… of Sirius being tortured.
Memories started flooding back at him; memories he had work so hard in shutting down in the last weeks. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about it. Harry spent hours daily just laying on his bed, thinking… but he didn't like it when his memories look like having a mind of their own and made their way to his head without warning, in the very least likely occasions, and Harry would never allow the Dursleys see him in his weakest.
Many times Harry thought he was about to cry. But the truth was, he never had… and sometimes he would feel guilty about it.
Sirius Black was… he had been a great part of Harry's life. He was his godfather, but, moreover, he had been like a second father, and a very marked friend of his. And Sirius had been Harry's only hope of leaving the Dursleys, and to have another place to call home, a real home, before finishing school as well. Though Harry must admit that the life quality at the Dursley had dramatically improved an awful lot since his uncle's talking to the members of the Order of the Phoenix. Yet, so had every time he returned from Hogwarts. Harry knew he still wanted it so much to have happened any other way, to be anywhere else. Even if it sounded selfish.
And he wanted so much to have Sirius back from wherever he was. To have jumped behind the veil…
The dark room was casting shadows that were both gloomy and soothing. It rained outside by now, which suited Harry's mood, and currently he felt a little drowsy. It was too cold and stormy outside to made Hedwig fly, and he was considering the last news, wanting to write something else in the letters to Ron and Hermione, but just then Harry could not find the might to do so. Hence, awaiting the sky to clear up, he dozed off into his pillow.
*
Harry awoke to the strong golden rays of sunlight that slowly peered though his bedroom windows. He felt a little sweaty, and cold in his left side area, contradictory to his right, and to the weather, if that made any sense.
Pulling the covers – which he remembered putting around him at some space at noon – off him he realized that he had over slept a little. It was past five in the afternoon, and Harry was starting to feel the alarmingly hot sunset. Someone must be messing up with the weather, he half-sleep thought, and covered his face with a pillow, hoping for sleep to take him back.
Which was quite a task, as he turned in his bed a high-pitched hooting reached his ears.
'Shut it,' he groaned half-asleep.
But then it hit Harry that the hooting wasn't alike Hedwig's, and his eyes snapped open. And sitting upright in his bed Harry turned right to find Hegwig's cage empty but just at the top of the old, conked out bureau were sat not two but three familiar owls. And just another quick look made him realize that, of course, he had forgotten to close his window the day before.
Pig, Ron's baby owl, was the first to jump down to Harry to greet him, flying excitedly over Harry's head. Pigwidgeon ('Pig' for short), though still the shortest of the three, was not much of a baby owl anymore though; it was by now a fairy large bird soaring frantically around, one or twice dangerously bolting to things in the room – Hedwig gave an disapproving howl that made Harry be strongly reminded of Professor McGonagall. Caching the jerking bird, Harry took two pieces of parchment, both a little bit too big for its still tiny legs, and started unfolding it while Pig shot to where the other two owls were, causing a small commotion over personal space.
The first note was, of course, from Ron.
Harry, how are you mate! I hope not too worked up about grades, as I'm sure Hermione is. I just received my OWLs results. Mate, I don't know how I did it! I got 5 OWLs! Not like it's such a big deal, I mean, Charlie and Bill had done much better than me in their OWLs, but at least I've more than Fred and George. I wanted to send this letter earlier but Ginny made me wait; that with the rain, I am supposedly 'very mean' to pretend Pig sending mail. Like the little steroid-fed monster would drown that easily.
Anyway, I've been just keeping me busy. There's not much I can talk about, that with the… You-Know-What. So I don't have much news. Oh! I've had news from my dad about permission to bring you here. There might be a chance, thought there's nothing sure, but I'll try to speak to dad about that. Maybe it's a possibility…
Harry knew he was wearing by now a little smile in his face, knowing fully that the circumstances wouldn't allow him such luck. But, truly, Harry wasn't that disappointed, being honest with himself, he even preferred his current situation at the Dursleys to go back to the sad, dark rooms at Garmound Place, and that was saying something. As well, he wasn't that convinced either about going to the Burrow, Ron's place, and having to face the cheery (if true or not Harry couldn't predict it) atmosphere that Harry knew was awaiting him there. It was a larger responsibility be in the center of all the looks of pity that Harry was expecting in the Weasley's faces, having to put out with their attempts to cheer him up. It would get depressing to look forward a holiday without his friends, but Harry thought he just couldn't stand it just then; he needed time alone and just wished everybody would leave him be for a while. Harry never felt this suffocated, strange as it was, he was wishing to run away from everything and everybody he ever cared.
Again Harry smiled unwarily when re-reading the last lines. With the Order of the Phoenix at stake the three of them must be very careful about their moves, and what they put on their letters, and Harry intimately thought that Ron was a little negligent commenting on the Order that way.
Anyway, I still didn't have mail from Hermione about exams. I just hope she doesn't start rambling about grades and how she could have had all Outstanding's if she had worked harder. And, just for the surprise; I had an A in Potions! Can't you deem that? The World must be falling apart!
Well, and how are you? We don't receive much post from you nowadays; and when we do receive it you seem to not wanting to speak of anything just then. I won't push you around, but my whole family is expectant of your letters, and of having news from you. If there's anything you can say to make them a little less jumpy, it'd be a good idea.
Also, I wanted to say, that I care for you too. As your friend – of course you could already say that my mother already adopted you as part of the family by now. Hermione and I are here and, well, if you want to talk about something, here we are. So, write back when you can. I hope you're all right.
Ron.
P.S. I'm sending a copy of my O.W.L.s results, my father insisted in proving a muggle macheen called 'copier' or something like it. Have fun reading!
Harry noticed the tone in which Ron was aiming to sound like at the end of the letter, and just felt mildly ashamed about the impulse to throw it away to the dust bin. Leaning even more in his own knees, Harry read the letter again, this time avoiding purposely the last paragraph, and took a look at Ron's results before starting with the piece of parchment attached to the second visitor. Harry could easily recognized Hermione's tidy handwriting.
Dear Harry,
I've just received Ron's letter about the OWLs. I don't know if you received his letter yet. Good for him, don't you think? I still reckons he could have out a little more hard work into it. But it was fairly good all the same. I hope you have done well too!
Regarding my case… To tell you the truth I received my grades much earlier, but I could find the nerve to open them! I fidgeted with it for about two hour, went for a snack, to come back because I was so nervous I couldn't eat, and start all over again. But then I received Ron's letter and I told myself 'I couldn't have gone that bad'. And I thought of what you two would say if you could see me; afraid of some stupid letter, and I found the courage to open them and… I PASSED ALL MY SUBJECTS! I'm ecstatic about it! I had top grades in all my examination but in Ancient Runes (you remember? The 'partnership' error? I cannot even remember the word – But who cares!), and in Astronomy and History of Magic, but I wasn't paying much attention to it at that moment. I received two Exceeds Expectations for the firsts, but only Acceptable for HM. I still think it should had been a little more, but it's true that Ron and me finished earlier on purpose, that with what was happening then.
I must confess I was a little preoccupied about the practical part in Transfiguration, because of a little mistake turning the needles a different color, which I didn't commented earlier because I was sure you'd tell me something about 'just one error! Nobody cares about one single error!' But I got an 'O' in those all the same, I think they were a little unfair, if you ask me.
Oh, sorry, it's not like I want to rub it off on you or something, it's just that I'm so happy!
So how are you? How did it go on the exams? Oh, I hope I'll be hearing from you soon, you've been quite distant this holidays. And I wanted you to know that we; Ron, as well as his family, the members, and I, are here if you need us. I know you must have not been feeling like chatting openly right now but I don't think you should be closing yourself up in there. We are still here. And we'll do anything to help you in anything, Harry.
I hope you're OK, and I'll be sending you Chocolate Frogs with next letter, Ron made me promise. Again, mail me if you need anything, and don't forget to write back!
Love,
Hermione.
Harry rubbed his eyes. These must be Ron and Hermione's most extensive letters he had received so far (and, if talking about Hermione, that was saying something). But Harry didn't know if that was a good thing. Now they would be waiting or a similar well-lengthen letter like theirs, and he surely didn't feel like writing them one.
Harry did add some comment to the previous letters, though; thinking he had disguised fairly well his mood so that it looked like the first and second part of the letter were written in one shoot. He talked about his grades and congratulated them a great deal about theirs, pointing out specially the great amount of luck which has given him his Outstanding at Potions. And that, really, (and despite the morbid intention his remark had) the world was reaching its end. But, Harry thought, at least I'll be able to rub my Potions notes on Snape before, if I die.
He didn't commented on, however, some other subjects in their letters that he found… not that nice. Like the mention of the 'You-Know-What' from Ron's part, or Hermione's 'We are still here'. But it was also true that he could keep himself angry at no one anymore. Strange, it was; since in the previous year he could not find how to put his rage at peace, oppositely at how he was feeling now. It was like all his energy and feelings were being drained from him so suddenly he couldn't even start to be seriously pissed off. But Harry, most of the times, liked that. At least now he felt he could mildly control his emotions, to stop them from over-power him.
He tucked the two letters to Ron's and the Granger's owls, and let them took off before shutting his window down.
The following hours flew away fairly. The weather became each time cooler, the Dursleys' constant whining from downstairs eventually fade, and Harry just grew more and more tired. He didn't remembered sleeping so much in his life. Finally, after making one last visit to the kitchen to make himself something to eat for dinner, he went back to sleep.
That night Harry dreamed about Hogwarts, the long passageways, and an enormous dog called Padfoot visiting him there. Later it was a shadow creeping out though a door, Harry twisted on his sheets, for a sentiment of hatred arise in his heart.
*
Harry coughed for the twelfth time a rainy morning of summer vacations.
'Boy!' Uncle Vernon roared, 'Keep your kind's germs for yourself!'
With a ham-fisted movement alike a wale's, Uncle Vernon cleaned his thick mustache with one rough hand. Harry thought he looked like a very happy child cleaning chocolate from his face, or at least a very happy 13-year-old Dudley cleaning chocolate from his face ('Like father, like son' chanted Harry). Whichever the reason was, the wale beast has been in an unnerving delighted mood since he stepped in the kitchen.
'Dear Petunia,' he asked with an overjoyed twinkle in his small eyes, 'This bacon is absolutely delicious – What did you do to it?' he asked like he was truly interested.
'Actually, it's Mr. Green's usual bacon – but I think it was conserved better in the fridge this time, despite the weather.' Aunt Petunia answered equally polite, but quite missing the joke in Uncle Vernon's speech.
'Really? I could never have guessed.' Uncle Vernon said and Harry could make out a malicious glint in his eyes. Probably because he had realized what Harry tried to ignore and deny since the start of the day.
He was feeling miserable.
Harry's nose dripped and prickled uncomfortably, making him sneeze every five seconds, sometimes three or more times in a row. His head pounded painfully, his neck felt dumb and his chest sore. It shouldn't be nothing more than a cold but every time Harry coughed he was sure he was about to bring this internal organs though the mouth.
Aunt Petunia, though in a different way, looked quite self confident and cheerful too (Maybe it's contagious, Harry dared to presume). Dudley seemed to be the only one not getting a clue about anything as he seemed too concentrated in his bacon sandwiches and juice to pay attention to anything anyway. But Harry knew that, if Dudley confessed, it would come as no surprise that it was him that made Harry's present situation as it was. Of course, that morning, like the lot before it, Harry took a rather long bath; like he did nowadays that Uncle Vernon's constant telling off about using all the hot water was little problem to Harry, because he didn't care. And it could have been an eternal one, if only Dudley hadn't picked up a new way of amusing himself and pissing Harry off all the while. Once Harry was in the shower, Dudley would keep pulling the toilet wrench, which had become a common ritual to him, making Harry freeze. And if Harry complained about it to his aunt or uncle, they would say he was just being stupid; 'Dudley wouldn't do such bad jokes,' because 'he has better taste than that'. But Harry suspected they approved it, and were proud of their son's behavior. Probably, Harry thought, they thought this as a "perfect" way of making Harry suffer as their wrath; in other words; this was not only Dudley's, but their revenge.
So, this time, like the lasts, Dudley made his way to the bathroom and Harry's only warning was the sound of the toilet being flushed. And, of course, he didn't even contemplate telling Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia about it.
The kitchen was quiet, yet it sounded to Harry like he was in the middle of the Quidditch stadium in the Championship. Even the turning of Uncle Vernon paper's page felt painfully sonorous to Harry. Since he woke up he had been fighting to put out with the buzzing in his ears, which was such that he could not make out his mind if it had any relation to real sound. And, of course, the Dursleys weren't helping. Harry just wished to be somewhere, almost anywhere else… It was a wonder to Harry if life in the Burrow could be more noisy.
It had been two days since Harry received his O.W.L.s results, and that he had mailed his friends about stuff. But he didn't received answers yet. He knew that it was dangerous to send owls too regularly, specially the same owl to one place. Owls could be tracked, and times were extremely dangerous to hope for quick mail. Irregular post would have to make Harry contented at the present time.
Harry tried to focus, to think of something else, but just think was unbearably painful just at the time. He sneeze again, this time with two fingers pressing at the top of his nose, from beneath his glasses, trying to stop it show. With not much avail, the table shook slightly and Harry let out a soft moan alike a purring. He looked up expecting his uncle to yell at him again, but only found the man smiling, showing fully his contentment about Harry's misfortune. Even so, Harry was grateful it had been that way and he relaxed in his chair. It was only natural that his uncle would ignore him to read the paper, but Harry found disturbing the amount of attention he was receiving from his aunt.
'What?' he asked pointedly looking at her, gaining that her eyes divert to some space near the fridge or the window, and an itching sensation in his throat. He cursed in a barely audible whisper while he toyed with his food. He wasn't really that hungry any more.
His eyes wandered to the table, where Aunt Petunia has purposely left opened a catalogue about talismans; highlighted with red marking the photo of one a lot alike a stone hanging from his aunt giraffe-like neck, it had a familiar shape. The catalogue read:
'HONRUS EYE: Anti-Curses Amulet. In the Ancient Egypt people should protect themselves from the dangers of the Evil Eye, symbol of envy and hate, hence, talismans with the shape of a beetle or such were popular among the Egyptians about 200 b.C.. The most trusted and likely to find in many of the Egyptians' doors was the Honrus Eye, which attacked the source of the evil itself. Money, power, friendship, family and love are protected by the magic of the Honrus Eyes, and it gives you the wits and cunning necessary to achieve your ambitions.'
The first thing Harry noticed was the inaccurate description: first, for talismans and amulets weren't the same, and second, true amulets won't do more than defensive work, never attack. And Harry was not a great fan of History of Magic but he was pretty sure the dates were wrong too. Regarding its appearance, Harry doubt it would be any better than the Evil Eye itself, and the latter actually suit the Dursleys. All about the amulet, despite maybe the protection thing, was a lot Slytherin-like, who would have such bad taste as to buy that thing, even if they feel threatened enough?
Harry looked up to his aunt. What was most amusing of the scene was her fidgeting with the amulet, while wearing a "secure" sneer in her features, probably trying to look threatening. Though Harry also noticed the trembling pulse with which she was taking the repulsive item and the recurring looks of unease that were hidden behind Aunt Petunia's eyes. Like she was observing an animal at the side of a "dangerous" sign. Maybe, Harry thought, she was expecting him to become something alike a wild beast that would react to the stone hostilely, trying to bit her hand off, and Harry was very temped to set her imagination free.
As he tried to bit and actually enjoy the over-toasted bacon that he was barely achieving to eat, Harry's ears started ringing again, sounding higher at his left ear. Harry rubbed his temples, lifting his glasses which had become much more uncomfortable and heavy, to his view. He tried swallowing, and regretted it at once, as his sore throat wouldn't allow the passing of food no bigger than an inch. He coughed, and at that exact time he felt like sneezing. There was only one thing that would make Harry's current situation worse and it was having Uncle Vernon in his wrong side just then and, judging by the extremely awkward situation there was a truth about it: this was going to result in disaster.
Starting his search for some juice, feeling his eyes water, Harry made it to his empty glass when he knew was too late. Harry knew he must have been making quite a show, feeling his face turning purple, and Dudley was finally paying him attention by pointing his face while laughing uncontrollably. Harry felt the glass in his hand tremble, having time only to cover his mouth and to mentally curse his luck before the inevitable.
'Eww!' Harry heard Dudley squeeze out, at the same time when his aunt's shriek.
'BOY!' Uncle Vernon growled while lifting from the table, probably from nausea.
Of course Harry was smart enough to move his head to the side so the nice view over the floor wasn't displayed on the table instead. That didn't help, of course, Uncle Vernon's upcoming shouts that were about to become a potential help to his headache.
'GET UP –' Uncle Vernon roared while hauled Harry up from the neck of his shirt, and maneuver it without stepping in the pool of puke under their feet – Harry wasn't that lucky. 'GET UP RIGHT NOW! AND CLEAN ALL THAT – HORRIBLE AMOUNT OF YOU FROM MY FLOOR!' he said, shoving Harry to the kitchen washstand.
Harry washed his hand that had resulted victim of the toast disaster, took a hankie, and advanced towards his wasted breakfast, all the while observed reproachfully by his relatives. It seemed the previous terror atmosphere was fully vanished from the Dursley's; now they were just coming back to the typical situation of bulling Harry to his death.
And, of course, this suited the Dursleys a lot.
'And I'm warning you; if I don't see that the floor sparkling clean it would be no lunch for you,' Uncle Vernon growled, his eyes twinkling with malice, as Harry let himself plop to the floor in his knees in a painful thud, his stomach still revolted.
Harry tried swallowing, expecting to pull the remains of the sickening sensation down his throat, he felt so tired he didn't thought he wouldn't be able to stay awake. But, on top of it all, which annoyed Harry the most was the ringing in his ears that has reached an unbearable high after Uncle Vernon's yelling and was piercing a hole in Harry's head. Some time during his cleaning in his painful position of standing his own head and shoulders' weight, Harry felt the noise become something alike background whisperings, unknown voices resonate along with the sound of the clothing in his hands wiping the floor and the cutlery. Harry didn't realize reaching up to his forehead to scratch it, but became aware of something in the murmuring all around. The sound seemed to be coming from just above him, at his right, and there was something else… Looking up, Harry became face to face with his aunt's horse-like head, and it became clear that the sound he was hearing was Aunt Petunia's voice.
'Getting out… with – own weapons,' Aunt Petunia's voice was extremely hushed and quick, Harry got just the hint of what it said. Again she was fidgeting with the stone in her neck.
'You think… just can,' Harry heard, and as he did, images started popping out in his head, in which he thought he was seeing a toilet and lip stick. But Harry couldn't get a clear image, ('…boy… think I cannot –') and he became more interested in something else: as Harry perceived the strange attempt to maintain eye contact with him from Aunt Petunia's part, getting the complete picture, Harry realize she wasn't really talking. Aunt Petunia wasn't even moving her lips.
'WHAT ABOUT THAT!'
Harry felt as if he was awaking from a dream. All of the sudden the buzzing, though not completely gone, had dropped in volume. His ears, however, were aching a lot because of the imaginary Aunt Petunia's deafening shout.
'Done there?' came derogatory Uncle Vernon's voice. Harry looked up to Uncle Vernon's face just a second before the ringing became louder.
Turning back down, Harry went back to scrubbing the floor recklessly, despite his throbbing head. The buzzing persisted, it contrasted to the strong thumping in his chest.
When Harry was done he allowed himself some minutes to rest, panting, on the floor. He remembered the hard way about his soiled shoes, because he had sat just on it, dirtying his pants along.
Aunt Petunia must have felt Harry's tiredness since she said, 'If you're done with that you pick yourself from the floor,' Harry was sure, as a way to annoy him. But, not wanting another row with the Dursleys, Harry relocated himself to clean the old second-handed pants and shoes, all the while avoiding looking up.
He wasn't expecting the amulets Aunt Petunia bought by catalogue to work somehow, and wasn't that convinced it was the amulet's job what has made him heard or see what was not there.
Once done Harry considered taking a chance peeking up. But he thought better of it, gathered himself up and made his way to his room to change his clothes, intending to put an end to his misery for that day. Yet, the day was going to be a long one, and the afternoon would be a lot worse.
The Dursleys wouldn't stop bossing Harry around, shouting at the top of their lungs every time Harry passed by them just to aggravate him. Twice he had to cover his ears in his way to the kitchen for more tissues.
The Dursleys lowered and later turned out the heater (it was, supposedly, too nice outside to be wasting gas) so that it was freezing all over the place. Harry was made to stay in his room, covered in all the blankets he could find, trying to warm up his bed. Meanwhile his coughing was going quite bad, he locked himself in the bathroom quite some time fearing another accident like that morning's, and then a little more to annoy the Dursleys as well.
And Harry had the little brains to hope as he tried coming up with his need for a doctor, but the Dursleys meant to lend no ears whatsoever.
It was coming to be a ruddy dreadful day, that one. That was what Harry was thinking while he made his way to his old cupboard under the stairs to draw some more blankets and clothes, watching Dudley and Uncle Vernon sat comfortably in the lounger in front of the TV, laughing at their favorite show. Aunt Petunia has just reappeared from shopping in the mall. Harry involuntary coughed.
'SHUT UP! I want to hear the TV!" shouted Dudley to Harry, rather exaggeratedly.
'Now, now, Dudders,' said Uncle Vernon in a falsely calming voice, 'no need to waste your breath away, you're going to upset your voice – now,' he spoke up while he took the remote from the night table besides the coach, and next the volume of the TV was four times higher. 'There.'
'…And now, it's for free! The Cleaner Kit is now available at stores at this incredible prize! Buy now and you'll get our –'
'Vernon,' called Aunt Petunia, deafened by the sound, 'I need –'
'WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!' Uncle Vernon called back. The program has started again and Dudley was laughing his fat ass off, spitting pieces of his sandwich all over the carpet. The situation was unbearable, as Harry looked up for things in the cupboard as fast as he could with one hand pressed against his left ear, unable to hear his own thoughts. He couldn't make out his mind if the ringing he was hearing, a lot alike a radio frecuency, was coming from the TV or from his own head.
At some space it seems Aunt Petunia has taken control of the remote and turned the volume down ('Hey!' Harry heard his cousin complain) and soon she was talking to Uncle Vernon about their muddy front steps.
'OK. I'll take care of that later, Petunia,' said Uncle Vernon lazily as he rise the volume of the television again.
'My Diddykins,' Aunt Petunia addressed Harry's cousin, 'Would you help me with my shopping.' Dudley seemed downright horrified that his mother would deprive him of watching his show.
'But I'm in the middle of Car Crash Unlimited!' Dudley complained. 'Make Harry do it,' he added smirking at his so clever idea.
Aunt Petunia looked at Harry apprehensively, who just ignored the whole situation because he was too occupied in stopping the maddening coughing. Turning to Dudley again, Aunt Petunia said,
'I won't have that – that thing and his germs near our food. Now, please, Dudly –'
But Dudley didn't seemed to be giving up his case any time soon, and he started winning.
'Now, Dudley, don't be a pest and help your mother. I'll take care, though we could let the rain to take care of the mud – WOULD YOU STOP THAT NOISE!' Uncle Vernon turned to Harry, whose coughing was choking him, even so he stopped trying to quiet it. By this time both his uncle and aunt were sneering at Harry across the lounge, and Harry could almost presence the start of another loud scolding.
But the aspect of it took yet another turn when, this time, it was Dudley who coughed.
Aunt Petunia gapped horrified, both hands now covering her mouth, and Uncle Vernon's face was draining of color but for his usual purplish tint. And so Dudley coughed again.
'Ah, my baby – you feeling all right?' Aunt Petunia fumed over Dudley, her hands disappeared under his extensive chin, 'Oh God – Vernon! Vernon, we have to call a doctor!'
'Of course – of course, Petunia. Don't worry, Dudley, I'll bring a doctor in a minute,' said Uncle Vernon putting on his coat – 'No, I'll get you the best doctor, Dudders. Not to worry, not to worry.'
'Hurry up, Vernon!' Aunt Petunia articulated taking yet another look at Dudley's dead-like, naturally-yellowish face while Uncle Vernon disappeared though the door. Jealous git, Harry thought while looking at his cousin's pained expression, so idiotically it was it made Harry be reminded of the two most stupidest blocks at Hogwarts', Crabbe and Goyle. Just then, to Harry's dismay, Aunt Petunia looked up at him and Harry knew in that instant he should have flown away time ago instead of watching the show.
'Give me that blanket!' demanded Aunt Petunia, getting to his feet, meaning the one Harry was wearing over his shoulders, 'give it!'
'No,' Harry retorted with an awkward nasal voice.
'What did you say?' asked Aunt Petunia looking murderous. 'Give me that now!'
'Get another blanket for you,' Harry challenged while he got out of her way, his hands gripping the material with the strength he had left. But Aunt Petunias was besides herself and drove to seize the sheets. Harry dodge her first but the second time she made it to one edge of the blanket and wouldn't let go. They both pulled from both edges, Harry advancing to the stairs. He felt the other side pull harder rather than see, as Dudley joined to help his mother, his face lit with amusement – it seems Dudley had already forgot he was supposed to fake his illness.
Having reached the stairs Harry used the handrail to help himself but it gave Dudley the chance to get to him and push him hard enough he loose his grip momentary and went down. The hold of the sheet at the very last moment had been what kept him from falling painfully at the foot of the stairs. Yet, he was getting quite tired of this silly game, his head was throbbing agonizingly enough, thank you.
Thus, he let go of the sheets.
Harry never would have guessed that Dudley's heavy body would take so much to hit the floor but was twice as funny seen Aunt Petunia's face as she was being dragged downwards by Dudley.
Harry only had time to hear the loud thumping in the floor before running to his bedroom, as far away from the two of them, and blocking the way in once inside with every furniture and object in the room. He knew only too well he had just gotten himself in a mess but couldn't quite feel regretful about it. Hearing the last of Aunt Petunia's shouts die away, as it seems Dudley's condition was more important at the moment, Harry sat in his bed, his legs feeling dumb and his mouth dry threatening another coughing fit.
'Nice one, Harry,' he said in a barely audible whisper to no one but himself.
Carefully wrapping another blanket around him, Harry had just minutes to settle down before a thumping at the window caught his attention. Not surprisingly, Hedwig was there, poking in the glass rather hysterically, soaked from head to paw.
Harry hesitated only a second before letting her in, knowing fully as he did so he was allowing all the coziness that was left in the room away. A itching smell of blossomed hydrangeas and damp grass reached Harry's nose from the outside, Hedwig's soiled wings stink being the only thing stronger.
A feeling of guilt, and a well-known feeling at that, eat Harry's stomach from in to outside. He had been reckless for not noticing her absence and leaving her out with the stormy weather in the first place.
'I'm sorry, Hedwig,' he said as she perched herself on his shoulder shaking slightly. 'Now we are both going to be ill,' Harry guessed laughing heartlessly as he patted her.
Hedwig wasn't carrying a mouse or another prey as she generally did. Only when Harry finished drying her with the pillow clothes and tissues, did she ventured to her cage to drink some water.
Harry was now to wait for Uncle Vernon to be filled in by Aunt Petunia and Dudley about Harry's reproachable behavior, and to be punished consequently. It didn't go unnoticed to Harry that this was his chances to get a proper prescription from a doctor, a very well needed one. Yet, in his aggravating situation it was difficult to assert in anything but the fat chances that would permit Harry to be graced with odds of Dudley lending his doctor to him. For two long hours Harry was left to his contemplations.
At the first sound of movement downstairs, Harry jumped out of his bed. His mind was numb, swirling wearily; even so Harry was sure to put the remained energy and tolerance to good use.
'Oh, welcome! Welcome!' Aunt Petunia annoyingly shrieking voice traveled to Harry's ears, '– See, Duddinkins? Vernon brought the best doctor! The best doctor only for you!'
'My pleasure, I'm sure,' Harry barely heard a stranger's voice say under his breath.
'This is Mr Clockwise,' said Uncle Vernon sounding quite proud of himself. 'He is one of the most highly qualified doctors of the Faculty of Medicine in London.'
'Not that much so,' Mr Clockwise appeared to be a quite serious, business person. Harry intended to have a look at him but from this position on top of the stairs, peering though the door, he was unsuccessful. When touching the space just before his navel, Harry could feel bulges so big he was sure she had grown two additional balls in his throat. Or, as well, you could say his skull was in the upper part of two life coats, it made it difficult for Harry to title his neck to the sides.
'You cannot believe the hospital!' complained Uncle Vernon agitated, the rustling of his coat in the background, 'No one would come immediately! With a young boy's heath at stake! Lucky Doctor Clockwise overheard me,' he addressed the man in his most self-satisfied tone.
'Would you like something to drink, Mr Clockwise? Tea maybe?'
'No, that won't be necessary, I'm on a rush,' Mr Clockwise spewed out quite indifferently. 'So you're Dudley Dursley then. How is it that you're not in bed? You're supposedly very ill, for what your father recounts.'
Ha! Let's see how you go though this one, Dudley, Harry thought.
'Ah, how irresponsible we were!' Aunt Petunia spat truly horrified while, again, Dudley tried to pull up his cover of the coughing fiasco. 'Of course, you have to go to bed! Silly, we were, Vernon. Let's go to your room, Dudley – Vernon, help me here.'
'Er, yeah – of course, Petunia,' came the muted reply from Uncle Vernon's part, partly hidden by the sound he made clearing his throat, not a minute enjoying the implication that Dudley's illness might be his fault. Uncle Vernon laughed nervously before spitting out, 'yeah… we were, Petunia…'
Uncle Vernon made a funny noise again.
'C'mon, Dudley – up you go…' he said, his tone deceiving the would-be secret discomfort at being scrutinized by the man in his living room.
'All fault of that infected freak… sickening my Dudly…'Aunt Petunia mouthed aloud.
Uncle Vernon was heard clearing his throat once more before uttering from the corner of his mouth, 'Petunia!'
Harry here leaned a little more in the edge anxiously to listen better, now that he has been mentioned. It could now be perceived the sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs along with Dudley's false coughing.
'And who would that be?' it was heard Doctor Clockwise's deep, grave voice question Aunt Petunia.
'No, no. We were talking about a dog – the neighbor's dog.' Uncle Vernon responded.
Harry tried to stretch to see them coming but with no avail; Uncle Vernon seemed to have perceive Harry's intentions and had reached the top of the stairs first and blocked Harry's view with his extended body.
Meanwhile Mr Clockwise must have sense Uncle Vernon's uneasiness when the latter overtook and stepped just in front of the former so abruptly, because Doctor Clockwise asked, 'what's it, Mr Dursley?'
Harry acted a second too late, so Uncle Vernon had reached Harry's room door and pushed it closed before Harry was able to get out.
'Nothing, nothing at all,' Uncle Vernon responded though a overly obvious nervous smile. Harry started to panic when he heard the sound of keys.
'Let me out!' Harry shouted forcefully knocking on the door, if at least he would be able to call Mr Clockwise attention…
'What's that?' Doctor Clockwise asked.
'Nothing,' Uncle Vernon spat at once.
Harry took advantage of his uncle's adverted attention to push at the door open for a moment, but didn't succeed in walking out, nor paying a look at the stranger. He was pushed inside his room yet again.
Before Doctor Clockwise could muter a word Uncle Vernon responded the unasked question, 'nephew – trouble boy. Always causing problems…'
'Let me –' Harry started but in that precise moment he was target of another coughing fit. It was opportune, Harry decided, because then he would let Mr Clockwise known about his situation.
' – ejem… Yes, as I was saying!' Uncle Vernon's loud exclamation hardly covered up the sound coming from Harry's room. But Aunt Petunia, unconcerned, intercepted the conversation rescuing Uncle Vernon.
'Don't pay attention to him,' Aunt Petunia said a little too loud and stepping forward, passing by Harry's room. 'That vandal is always being a pest – Now, if you follow me, this is Dudley's room…'
Harry could hear movement outside, he was being ignored. However, he couldn't call after them, the coughing was, if possible, worse than ever and was chocking him helplessly. No! Harry's mind screamed, Clockwise couldn't fall for that! His heart beats rose a level in volume and speed, Harry almost didn't register Uncle Vernon locking the door. Harry was despairing.
And then the glass of water in his nightstand broke. No, "break down" was an understatement; it blew up so high the pieces of glass reached the roof. But as it did, Harry, in his knees on the floor, as able to calm himself down and felt the air in his lungs again.
For seconds there was a silence in the surrounding the Dursley's knew not.
'BOY! YOU STOP OR I'LL CALL THE POLICE!' it was Uncle Vernon who shouted melodramatically.
'SEE!' Aunt Petunia cried louder than ever before. 'Shameful behavior! C'mon, Mr Clockwise, don't waste your time –'
'Indeed.' Clockwise agreed, and that was the last comment Harry heard regarding himself as he slumbered down tired.
But it wasn't the last he would from Doctor Clockwise.
Dudley's baby whining could be perceived two blocks away in the vicinity and was easily discerned by Harry, who now laid in his bed awaiting to be unlocked. His muscles felt weary, as every time it's too hot outside and his blood pressure got down. But it was still raining outside and a light but cold breeze made it though his closed window quite easily. Harry decided he would wait for the weather to clear up before sending Hedwig with a letter. If he was going to die in the hands of a common muggle cold better let his friends know, and he would be able to make his last wishes, talking about being melodramatic.
'Strange…' though the thin walls Harry heard Clockwise mouth from the room next to his.
'Wha – what's strange?' Aunt Petunia was at the verge of tears.
Mr Clockwise took his time to respond, the four slowest second in the Dursley's history, 'Nothing… nothing at all.' Clockwise seemed to barely matter the Dursleys uneasiness, he put his glasses back to his pocket, 'actually, I don't see anything wrong with his boy's health, regardless of maybe his uncared dental health.'
This didn't humor the Dursleys, who have grown expectative far too large and, to their view, they went through a very great lot of troubles bringing him there. And this was easily read in Uncle Vernon's next words, 'what do you mean, nothing at all?'
Harry could have laughed but that only brought him spasm, so he contented himself by smiling broadly in his bed.
'No, nothing at all,' Clockwise said as nonchalantly as someone that was talking about the weather. (Harry's smile widened.) 'I'll go to fetch some instruments from your husband's car, if you feel is necessary, to be sure. But I'm convinced what bothers your son isn't much more serious than a regular cold. And modest indigestion.'
An uncomfortable silence had risen upon the last comment.
'Well? Go,' Aunt Petunia pressed onto Clockwise bossily. At Clockwise's first movements towards the door, Aunt Petunia added, 'Vernon, please, help Mr Clockwise there – and bring all the instruments you need,' she called out after them.
Harry made one last attempt, this time intentionally coughing, which wasn't difficult, when Clockwise went by the door. It only earned him his aunt's furious knocking at his door, and a hypocritical 'oh, shut it. We know you're faking.'
However, after Clockwise came back and did all the tests in the book (and after Dudley gutlessly refused to be injected a needle), he claimed that he had to go, promising them to pay a short visit for improvements – or luckily lack of – in the imaginary illness.
That night the Dursleys sleep in a tense atmosphere, not one of them feeling happy about the events of the afternoon, and in the aftermath of it were quite clear the Dursley's grumpy mood by next day.
Aunt Petunia, for one, shoved the plates and glasses around the table carelessly and didn't eat but kept putting condiment to her food. Uncle Vernon, on the contrary, ate like a famished dragon, three plates on a round.
'Pass the juice, dear,' Aunt Petunia's statement, despite the sweet tone, showed that it was an order more than a request.
The heater was at its highest, Harry was sure that wasn't healthy either.
'Go fetch the paper, boy,' Uncle Vernon commanded. Harry was pretty sick of the Dursleys calling him that. Boy? He should be already considered a man, he was taller than Dudley and almost as high as Uncle Vernon after all.
Harry's attention landed on Dudley, who looked horrible. Gray bags hung under his eyes, his face was paler than usual, his slightly pinker nose seemed a leaking faucet. Dudley was practically drooling on his food, though Harry could only see little of it from the entry hall, as he wasn't allowed in the kitchen anymore for fear Harry's germs getting Dudley.
At some space at night it seems Dudley did become in touch with his character of the ill one, cause he looked quite sick, and his coughing were a little more credible.
'Mum,' Dudley winced, 'I feel bad…'
'Then eat your food, Dudley,' Aunt Petunia said curtly.
'BOY! I told you to pick the newspaper up!' Uncle Vernon spat angrily.
'Mum…' Dudley agonized in his pool of misery.
Harry had already risen to the door when he heard his aunt gasp, 'he has a fever!'
'Let see,' Uncle Vernon with a frown laid his sweaty hand on Dudley's forehead.
'We should call Doctor Clockwise,' Aunt Petunia alarmed, and somehow happy.
Uncle Vernon looked apprehensive. 'Maybe another doctor –' But Dudley was coughing again and Uncle Vernon abandoned his case.
By this time Harry reached the door, but when opening he regretted it at once. It was freezing out there, it made Harry's neck hairs stand on end. Harry crept out from the house to the outsides, barely hearing his uncle's complain about he, Harry, being irresponsible to let the cold in with Dudley seriously ill. If Harry had the might to he would have sighed, why didn't he considered playing dumb and not getting out in the chilly wind at all? Why was he doing this sacrifice for the Dursleys?
His fingers dumb, Harry picked the paper up, said newspaper already wasted, soaked in mud as well as the steps behind, then something kicked Harry hard on the guts. Looking to his right he saw Mrs Figg's house.
'Of course!' Harry's mind screamed, he could ask Mrs Figg, his cat-lover, squib neighbor for help. She was there in Dumbledore's orders to guard Harry, she would be able to contact Dumbledore or someone from the order who can make a potion or something for Harry.
Harry run heartily towards Mrs Figg's house, the dirty newspaper still clutched at his hands. Reaching a window, however, his stomach swirled with disappointment. The windows, covered in dust, were closely shut and all lights inside were putted down. Confirming his thoughts, when Harry knocked at the door no response came out.
With a feeling of defeat, Harry retreated to the Dursley's. When pushing the door open Harry heard the last of Uncle Vernon's telephone call to Mr Clockwise. Uncle Vernon must have felt the icy airstream from the door, for he still interrupted the conversation to yell at Harry, meanwhile Aunt Petunia was asking her husband for help to carry Dudley to his bedroom.
'In a minute dear,' Uncle Vernon said and then dismissed Doctor Clockwise rudely.
An idea occurred to Harry; barely having the time to, he shoved the paper in his hands to the carpet and stepped outside once more, shutting the door closed before Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley made it out of the kitchen. He would wait for Doctor Clockwise there, in the cold and muddy steps, before anyone else can stop him.
*
Hours went by and no one had showed their faces in all Privet Drive. It was no wonder, for not a soul would dare be out in such temperatures. The streets looked like a sole graveyard, just one solitary silhouette sat at the front steps of number four.
Harry had resolved into doing some marching back and fort to keep warm, it looked like trembling down there in the steps wouldn't do him any good. But after a while even that was useless, if anything the weather was going cooler the minute.
The wind blow hard on Harry's face, just the glasses kept him from blinking every two seconds. The sneezing had vanished time ago, probably due to the fact that his nose felt out of order for the day, but the coughing fits returned with fierce range and Harry had problems breathing the cold air. The ringing in his years were replaced by the sound of the cold squall going by his ears and his stomach hardened and doubled over quivering. Not one part of Harry's body seemed to be safe from the icy storm's doing.
Shivering, Harry brought his hands to his mouth to feel the warm breath over his hands, and the same hands all around his body to thaw up. When bringing them to his forehead it had the opposite effect of cooling up, seeing that was still the hottest part of Harry's body. All of Harry's skin was being bitten on slowly and painfully though his thin clothes, even his head hairs looked to solidify up there.
Why wouldn't Doctor Clockwise come? Harry was dying and the bloody doctor wouldn't grace Harry with its presence.
Harry was contemplating giving up at last when he thought he felt something round the corner. A frosty mist has risen, Harry stood waiting, although he still could not see well.
Finally, the light of a car appeared within the misty scenario, so feeble Harry could almost confuse it with a lighting bug. Harry let himself grow hopeful against his regular luck. However, just down the front door steps Harry made it and he only just registered the Dursley's door opening before he was pulled forcefully back inside by his necklace.
Uncle Vernon hadn't looked so perverse in his entire life. 'You thought you could fool me, eh?' he said with a twisted smile behind his chunky mustache, morbidly enjoying chocking him while dragging Harry in.
Harry tried to fight Uncle Vernon, the last thing Harry saw before he was shoved inside was the car parking and a figure getting out of it.
If Harry hadn't been so tired he would have been able to get out of his uncle's grip in a minute, he would have hit the man's face with all his might. Uncle Vernon handle Harry like a puppet in his state, and found only one place to hid him before Doctor Clockwise could see Harry.
After six years, panting, Harry returned to his dusty old room, the cupboard under the stairs.
