1
24th December, 2018. Bukhurst Hill, London.
The black Rolls-Royce Phantom crunched over the snow to a stop outside a double-gated driveway. Beyond the gates an impressive mansion stood proudly, sneering condescendingly at the much smaller houses flanking it. Harry Potter squinted through the tinted windows and saw through the un-curtained windows of the mansion the thin figure of Petunia Dursley bustling back and forth in what appeared to be the drawing room. Even at this distance, Harry could see his aunt was agitated as she spoke animatedly into a mobile phone — there was enough hand gesturing to put an Italian to shame. Harry leaned back in his seat and allowed the soft leather to embrace him. With a flick of his wrist he removed his holly and phoenix feather wand from its arm holster; another flick and the gates slowly opened inwards revealing meticulously well-kept lawns, the green covered by snow, either side of the driveway.
"Let's go, Bernard," Harry said to his chauffeur. The Phantom came frictionlessly back to life and crunched over the snow up the drive. Harry glanced up at the house, sighed, and opened the car door. He half-jogged, half walked up the short flight of stairs to the door and rang the bell, wishing almost instantly that he hadn't. It had been twenty years since Harry had last seen or heard from his only living relatives. Their parting at Privet Drive all those years ago was awkward to say the very least; nobody knew what to say to each other after seventeen years of solid, mutual dislike. Harry had battled Death Eaters, Dementors, a Basilisk and the crazy psychopath who called himself "Lord Voldemort" but this imminent meeting with the Dursleys somewhat scared him. He couldn't, no matter what, forget those years of endless neglect and the fear that his uncle, Vernon, instilled in him as a child. Yet here he was, unexpected, at the doorstep of the very same people whom he wished never to lay eyes upon again.
The door was opened by a tall, broad and clearly muscular man. He had a round, clean-shaven face, bright blue eyes under a pair of thick eyebrows, thin lips and a broken nose. His blond hair was cropped short in a buzz-cut. Dudley Dursley looked at the unfamiliar guest at the door.
"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice slow and unsure, as though he was assessing each word for potential danger before he spoke them.
"Er, yeah, I think you can," Harry said, slightly uncertainly, before grinning and adding, "Big D." Dudley looked blankly at Harry before recognition slowly dawned on his face. His small eyes squinted and opened wide while his mouth replicated the move.
"Bloody hell... Harry?"
"Yep," Harry replied with half-hearted cheeriness. He was unsure how the Dursleys would react, and his right hand was ready to draw out his wand given the slightest excuse. Years of battle, with betrayal in between, had made Harry very cautious, even around those whom he knew he could trust. Well, his parents learnt it the hard way, but even your best friends can stab you in the back for a bit of short-lived, meaningless glory.
"Jeez… I thou — we thought you were dead," Dudley said as he looked Harry up and down, clearly trying to decide whether he was indeed Harry and not an apparition.
Like he'd know the difference.
"Ah, I'm sorry I survived, Big D. As lovely as the day is outside, do you mind if I come in?" Harry asked, becoming sightly irritated.
"No, no — I mean yeah, course you come in. But I didn't mean I'm not happy you're alive," Dudley said hastily before adding, "welcome back, Harry."
"Thanks Big D." Harry extended his right hand and met his cousin's bigger one in a weak handshake, before Dudley pulled him into an awkward embrace. Harry's immediate reaction was recoil, pull out his wand and stupefy his cousin into sweet oblivion, but then he remembered the last time he saw Dudley. He wasn't all bad. Harry gave a mental shrug and grasped him tightly with his free arm. They pulled apart from the hug and Dudley wordlessly led Harry down a marble-floored hallway, turning into the drawing room at the back of the hall. Petunia was still on the phone.
"But Clarissa can't be serious, Jane. She—" Petunia froze as suddenly as though she had been hit with a petrificus totalus. "I'll call you back, Janette."
"Er, mum. We have a guest." Dudley grinned at the evident shock on his mother's face. Harry, on the other hand, was looking at anything that wasn't his aunt's embarrassingly surprised face.
Jesus, she looks like she just found Vernon in a very awkward situation.
"It's you," she breathed. Harry wasn't sure if he could detect anger or fear in her voice. "Wha...what are you doing here?" she asked incredulously.
"Well," said Harry nervously, "it is Christmas." Dudley laughed, pushing Harry down onto one of the sofas.
"Sure is, Harry. Sit down. Want something to drink — tea, coffee, or something stronger?"
"Er, no thanks…Actually, d'you have any orange juice?" Petunia gaped at her nephew, her mouth open and eyes wide and nostrils flaring.
If that's what she looks like when blowing Vernon…
"Yeah, I'll bring some through," replied Dudley, leaving Harry and Petunia alone. Harry took advantage of having his back to his aunt and appraised the drawing room. He thought he'd travelled back in time to the Victorian era. The paintings on the wall showed Petunia's lack of coordination. Honestly, Harry thought, who would put a Rubens in a room like this? Harry shook the thoughts from his head and looked at his aunt. The years had not been kind to her. She was looking her age — perhaps more than it. For instance, it was obvious that much of her hair was artificial, and that without copious Botox injections and probably quite a bit of plastic surgery she would have a rather wrinkled face. Petunia remained standing, frozen, and had it not been for the fact she had spoken Harry would have thought she had been hit with a petrificus totalus. It was time to break the ice.
"Merry Christmas, Aunt Petunia," he tried. She didn't answer, but she did move slowly to a sofa and sit down. He noted with amusement that she chose to sit so that the table was between the two of them. Dudley re-entered carrying a try laden with champagne flutes, a carton of orange juice and a bottle of Château Monique wine. He placed the tray on the table, moved round to stand behind his mother, and she reached up to take his hand. Harry waited a minute or so, and then decided to cut to the chase.
"Look, Aunt Petunia. If, like me, you're willing to drop any hard feelings between us, then I'd like to cordially invite you to my wedding." His aunt just looked at him, like Dudley had, and decided she wasn't hallucinating. Dudley, on the other hand, gaped at Harry.
"Your wedding?!"
"Yeah," Harry replied and added, "mind you, I did propose after a few drinks had been shared." Dudley laughed a deep slow laugh that seemed to emanate from his stomach. Harry turned to his aunt and waited for her to speak. Petunia was, quite literally, lost for words. Twenty years, she thought to herself. She couldn't believe how much the boy she used to terrorise had changed. For one, Harry, at thirty-seven, was no longer a boy. A three-day stubble grew from his cheeks and chin, and those familiar green eyes looked at her without glasses. His trademark jet black and perpetually untidy hair was now tidy, combed sideways with the effect of making Harry look, well, aristocratically handsome, thought Petunia. He was dressed impeccably, wearing a suit that screamed of wealth and Saville Row and on the little finger of his right hand, he wore an intriguing looking gold signet ring. The Patek Phillipe on his left wrist completed the image of an extremely wealthy businessman.
Petunia didn't know how to react. She hadn't given the boy much thought since they last saw each so it was only fair that she be allowed time to decide whether she still hated him. Meanwhile, Harry was also feeling confused, unsure whether he really did want these people back his life. For twelve years he was treated like a, well there was nothing to compare how he was treated. There wasn't any outright physical abuse (not counting that one time after Dudley's eleventh birthday), but Harry would have rather been beaten than have gone through what he did. And here he was, trying to reconcile with the Dursleys. With the confusion, Harry was also extremely uncomfortable, for this was the only time, as far as he remembered, that speaking to his aunt actually felt natural.
"I'll go get dad," Dudley said, and left the room with a speed that belied his speech.
"Nice house," Harry commented, looking straight at his aunt. Fear. Yes, it was fear that Harry had detected in his aunt's voice, and he could see it now in her face.
She thinks I'm here to kill them or something.
"Thank you. Vernon is now-"
"CEO of Grunnings, yes," Harry interjected with a wistful smile. Petunia was obviously surprised at his knowledge. Harry thought he'd milk the moment for what it was worth. "Yes, CEO. And Dudley an Olympic medallist boxer, and you…a housewife." Petunia looked inquisitively at Harry, and relaxed slightly.
"You've been keeping up on us." It wasn't a question and it wasn't even directed at Harry. Petunia's words seemed to have a cathartic effect and she relaxed completely even making an unnatural attempt at a smile. Unnatural because it was aimed at Harry. "Despite what we did to you, how we treated you, you still thought of us. And here we were, not mentioning your name even once," Petunia murmured, almost apologetically. She looked at her nephew with watery eyes, as a look of sincere regret came over her face. This made Harry even more uncomfortable. He tried changing the subject but just then, Vernon Dursley walked in with his son in tow. Unlike Petunia, Vernon reacted quicker to Harry's presence. His face began that colour transformation Harry was so used to seeing, going from pink through red and finally settling on maroon. Harry was pretty sure that it was no good for his blood pressure.
"You! What are you...how da…" Vernon trailed off before dropping himself on the easy chair beside his wife. He looked at Petunia, then at Harry, then back to Petunia before deciding it was Harry he wanted to look at. For now at least.
"Ah, Uncle Vernon, how nice it is to see you," Harry said with a hint of bitterness. He hadn't travelled half way across the world just to be spoken to like this by his bigoted uncle. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and put his hands together before asking, "So, this is the thanks I get for making you Chief Executive Officer?" Harry had expected a look of violent surprise to dance on his uncle's face. Instead, violent surprise took hold of Vernon's entire body, propelling him to half sit, half stand, and Harry could have sworn that his uncle's thick moustache wriggled. Or would have if it wasn't obviously artificial.
"Yes. I'm that anonymous shareholder with an eighty-three percent stake in Grunnings. Seven hundred million pounds… that was a bargain. But I'm not here to talk about that."
"You...anony...seven hundred mi…" Vernon looked like he was on the verge of tears and Harry had to suppress a very strong urge to laugh. Opposite him, Petunia was also visibly startled, but she seemed to have understood something as she smiled again. Of course it was Harry, she thought to herself. It wasn't as though Vernon got to the top solely on his credentials.
Vernon finally relaxed, and when Dudley had also sat down, and when Harry was sure that the Dursleys were listening, he began.
"Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, Dudley," Harry addressed each one with a slight nod of his head. "I'm not here to cause trouble, nor am I here to ask for your gratitude. I consider my actions as compensation to you for having to put up with me for sixteen years. I know you wanted nothing to do with 'my lot' and what Dumbledore did was wrong." Harry paused and looked at the Dursleys. The were still all ears. "What Dumbledore did was wrong, especially since I was actually meant to live with my godfather, Sirius. Despite that, you didn't have to treat me as you did, but that's the past. Let bygones be bygones. Since you last saw me, I have managed to kill Voldemort, end the war, and graduate from school. I moved back into your world, and with the fortune I inherited from Sirius, I've managed to live comfortably." The Dursleys were now slightly leaning forward in their seats, clearly interested in what Harry had to say. "Everything's fine now, great in fact, and that's why I've come here. I want you to come to my wedding. Despite our past and mutual dislike, I want to get over that and you're the only family I have. I've realised that there's nothing more important in life than family." Harry finished his little speech, and looked at each of the Dursleys. What was going through their heads, only Merlin knew. He was convinced that this was the right thing to do, to keep any family of his close. He'd lost his parents, his godfather and his uncle Moony and even if he wasn't in love with the Dursleys, they were still family. Especially his aunt, Lily's sister. She was the first to speak.
"Oh, Harry," Petunia breathed. "I never hated you...I just…" Petunia sighed and straightened the creases in her dress before she continued. "I hated your father. He was a good for nothing rich ruffian. Your mother couldn't see it, but he was bad news-"
"What do you mean 'bad news?" Harry interjected angrily. "That's my father you're talking about."
"I- I'm sorry, it's- it's just how I felt...at the time. It's nothing, I'm sorry," stuttered Petunia. "Harry, I loved your mother. Lily and I...we were as close as you can get and when she had to go to that school...oh, I didn't want her to leave me. I hated her for that. But…" she trailed off, and Harry suspected she had no more to say. She tried to stifle a sob behind her handkerchief, before completely burying her head in it. Vernon Dursley slowly rose from his seat with that slow deliberation Harry had seen in Dudley, though in Vernon's case it was most likely due to old age. The Dursley patriarch walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back and head bowed. At the window, he lifted his head and gazed absently beyond the gates. Vernon remained quiet, apparently lost in contemplation before slightly turning his head and saying, "Come over here, boy." Sixteen years of being addressed as thus left Harry under no false impression that Vernon was addressing Dudley. Harry made his way over to his uncle, assuming the same pose a couple of feet away.
"You say you want to forget the past?" Vernon asked in a hushed voice.
"Definitely, if you can bring yourself to it," Harry replied calmly but in the same hushed tone. Vernon turned to face Harry and looked his nephew in the eyes before offering his pudgy right hand. A small smile was attempting to force its way onto Vernon's lips and it was enough for Harry to shake his uncle's hand. The handshake was like a hug and tears of joy, coming from uncle Vernon, and Harry knew it. Vernon turned to his wife and said, "I think dinner will be for four today, Petunia," before walking out of the drawing room.
Dinner was a slightly depressing affair. The only sound apart from the occasional "could you please pass the" was the chinks of cutlery and the sporadic coughs from Vernon. As usual, Petunia's dinner was bland in taste and presentation. The roast beef was the only thing giving flavour to the mashed potatoes and vegetables but Harry still complemented the meal. After fifteen minutes of silent dining, Vernon cleared his throat and said, "That was lovely, Petunia." Turning to Harry, Vernon faltered slightly before launching into a conversation opener. This made Harry even more uncomfortable. Clearly, Vernon didn't know how to start and so decided to speak rapidly in case his nerve failed him. "Sohowlongareyouplanningonstayinghere?" The words rolled of his tongue with such speed, Harry was sure a ticket was in order. Vernon collected himself, cleared his throat, and tried again.
"How long are you planning on staying here?"
"Well, not more than another couple of hours. I've got a flight to catch and tomorrow I'm to meet President Morgan in Washington." Vernon's eyes widened.
"President Morgan?" he asked animatedly, clearly forgetting his initial awkwardness. "President Morgan?" he asked again.
"Yes, uncle Vernon. President Morgan of the United States," Harry replied, not bothering to hide his smug smile.
"Well, how do you know him?" Vernon's tone of voice had altered considerably. He was speaking to Harry as though they were friends, and Harry felt relieved.
This is going better than I expected.
"Well, I sort of funded his presidential campaign," said Harry. "I think I mentioned earlier that Sirius left me a bit of money."
"Yes, bu- but funding a presidential campaign requires more than 'a bit of money'!" Vernon was now sitting up in his chair, slightly leaning forward as though to get a better look at Harry.
"Go on," Harry said with a sigh. "Ask me how much he left me. I can see it's itching you."
"Bu...that's to s….I didn't mea- how much did he leave you?" bumbled Vernon, his voice rising an octave towards the end. Harry considered the question. Oh, he was going to answer, that was for sure. It wasn't that Harry was the ostentatious type, flaunting his money like other people he knew. It was more to do with the fact that, despite his earnest desire for a reconciliation, Harry wanted to rub this in the Dursley's face. Money and status was all they cared for. Money they had, but status, something which Harry had, was sadly proving elusive for the Dursleys, even with Vernon's position as CEO and Dudley's fame as a boxer. Harry wanted to show them that despite what he was put through, he managed to get somewhere (albeit with considerable help from Sirius and his parents).
Harry looked away and quietly said, "Something in the region of ten billion pounds." The unison chorus of "WHAT?!" from the Dursleys slightly startled Harry, but he took it in his stride.
"Yeah, but that's just a conservative estimate," said Harry, shrugging and raising his eyebrows. He looked at the Dursleys for a few seconds before he burst into laughter.
"Dear Merlin! You should see your faces," Harry managed to say. "You look like a penguin that's just been told it can't fly."
"Yeah, well it's not every day we find out that our estranged nephew is a billionare," mumbled Vernon.
"Fair enough," chuckled Harry, before taking a huge risk. He flexed his right forearm and his wand slid into his hand. The Dursleys immediately flinched violently, yelping and looking utterly horrified. Harry raised both his hands in placation before flicking his wand. A partridge flew out of the wand, circled the room before perching on the windowsill. Harry flicked his wand again and a miniature pear tree sprang out from the wand tip. The partridge flew across the dining room and landed in the small pear tree. Harry looked at the Dursleys.
"It's the first day of Christmas, so here's a partridge in a pear tree," said Harry, smiling uncertainly. The silence that followed was deafening. That is until Vernon roared with laughter, breaking the spell of fear the Dursleys had cast on themselves.
Harry followed his uncle up the sweeping marble stairs. He had to admit, the house was rather pretty. The chandelier hanging from the high ceiling in the hall was huge, though not imposing, with beautiful crystal lights, and Harry had to resist a childish urge to swing on it. At the top of the stairs, they turned right and walked down a darkly lit wooden corridor that smelled of premium cigars and quality whiskey. The walls of the corridor held family pictures and Harry was not surprised not see a picture of himself. At the end of the corridor, Vernon led Harry into his study and shut the heavy wooden door silently behind him. Harry was impressed. The room was square and spacious yet well furnished. There was still hints of that Victorian design Harry had seen in the drawing room, but this was perfectly balanced with the modern office equipment. A dark, oak table near the back of the study and in front of a well-stocked bookshelf held a thirty-two inch iMac. The wall the left of the table was covered with books bound in plain black and gold. Harry looked closer at the titles and saw such classics as War and Peace, Ulysses and Pride and Prejudice. There was one painting in the room, just above the door, which Harry recognised as a Velázquez.
It looks authentic, as well.
Vernon walked over to small table near the main one, and poured out to glasses of whiskey from a crystal decanter. He offered one to Harry and asked, "Cigar?"
"Yeah, sure," Harry replied, taking his drink in his left hand and the proffered cigar in his right. Vernon gestured to the easy chair in front of his own as he sit down behind the table.
"You'll forgive an old man, won't you, boy?" Vernon asked. Harry noticed that although his uncle still addressed him as 'boy', that harshness in the word had gone.
"That's what I came over to do, uncle Vernon," Harry replied. Vernon's eyes met his nephew's before the old man dropped his head and began nodding slowly.
"Yes, yes. Ah, we were such cretins. Such fools," he said, to himself more than to Harry. Harry regarded his uncle, unsure what to feel. He was surprised at how genuinely sorry the Dursleys seemed to be and although he had come to make up with them, he wasn't sure how he felt. He was happy, confused, upset and more, but he had known this meeting wouldn't have been emotionally easy.
After sharing a couple of whiskeys and a few stilted conversations, Harry and his uncle returned downstairs to the drawing room. Dudley and his mother were stood waiting for the pair.
"So, you're going?" Dudley asked.
"Yep, but I'll be seeing you soon…won't I?" Dudley nodded and walked over to Harry.
"It was nice seeing you again, Harry," he said, offering his hand to his cousin.
"Yeah, you too, Big D." Harry looked at his aunt and saw she had sat down on the sofa. He then turned to his uncle. The Dursley patriarch walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back and head bowed. At the window, he lifted his head and gazed absently beyond the gates. Just then Harry felt his wand give a sudden tug, and instinctively he dived forward, pulling his aunt and cousin to the ground. He whipped out his wand and shouted, "Accio Vernon!" just as the window exploded spraying deadly glass shrapnel all over the drawing room. Harry then pointed his wand directly above him and the Dursleys. "Cubiertum," he spat, casting a protective transparent bubble around them all.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Not here, not now!
A massive explosion sounded from outside, and the shockwave was enough to shatter the remaining windows. Harry quickly jumped to his feet and surveyed the room. Stupefying his relatives, he removed the gold signet ring he was wearing on his right hand, twisted the black onyx, magically bound the Dursleys together and forced the ring into Dudley's hands, before shouting, "Portkey destination 1!" The portkey activated and in a flash of blue light, the Dursleys vanished and Harry stood alone in the centre of the drawing room, scanning it with his wand outstretched. A jet of green light flew into the room, missing Harry by millimeters.
That does it! Harry twisted on the spot and apparated just outside the gates. He couldn't see anyone inside or outside, despite the outside lights flooding the driveway in bright light. The Rolls-Royce was not there; only a pyre for Bernard remained. Harry raised his wand and made a throwing motion towards the house, muttering, "Disipa mostram." Dark blue fog materialised in three places, showing where the attackers had just disapparated from. He lowered his wand and put his hands on his hips, breathing heavily through his nose. "Great," he muttered. "So much for a reconciliation." He pulled out his wallet, pointed his wand at it and muttered, "portus." Seconds later, Harry found himself back in the Ministry of Magic for the first time in three, long years.