Chapter 2

Pulling his trunk behind him into the Muggle portion of the train station, Harry looked though the crowd at King's Cross. Uncle Vernon would find him soon enough, and Harry had to be ready. If he remembered right, there should be a bunch of vending machines around the entrance … right … there!

His dwindling stash of Muggle currency was still sufficient to buy a newspaper, and Harry quickly found the financial section. Finding the current prices of precious metals didn't happen, though – he had no idea how to find it among all the excessively fine print. Inwardly, he shrugged, and folded the paper back up. I'm sure that Uncle Vernon can help me figure this out, and maybe I can spin this so that he'll think he's taking advantage of me. That should help move things along …

Uncle Vernon greeted Harry at the station, leading the way to where his company car was parked, gleaming in the sun from a recent wash and wax.

Harry stopped (prudently out of arm's reach) and cocked his head to the side.

"Uncle Vernon, would you like to help me cheat wizards out of their money?"

The big man's eyes narrowed, but he didn't conceal the gleam of interest he suddenly had.

"And I need to learn to be normal, too. Magic makes people stupid. Could you help with that?"

"Do you have to use … m-word?"

Harry shook his head. "Nope. I need to learn to be normal, so I'll have to go to the library a bit this summer, and I will need … well, it will depend on how much money I can get, and how fast."

Uncle Vernon could tell that there was a chance to divert some of that money his way. "What do you need?" He was growing marginally less hostile by the minute. Not quickly, but fast enough that Harry felt safe enough.

Harry pulled a galleon out of his pocket, and then dropped it back in once the yellow gleam was reflected in Vernon's eyes. "Umm… let's get in the car so people don't see this." Uncle Vernon nodded and they slipped into the seats. Harry suspected that the somewhat … clandestine … nature of the transaction made it more appealing to his Uncle, and he tried to use that in the negotiations.

By the time that the Dursley's car was approaching Little Whinging, Harry had hammered out a rough agreement with his Uncle. Harry would provide them with golden Galleons, which Vernon would melt down and recast into blank ingots – Vernon felt that he would prevent any 'funny business' that way, and Harry was happy to let his porcine uncle do all the work he wanted. The Dursleys would pay Harry £120 for each Galleon; while quite a bit below market prices, it was still a lot higher than what Gringott's was offering, and Harry didn't feel cheated, even though the Dursley's would be making over twice that amount per Galleon. Harry's summer chores were immediately suspended – Harry had to do nothing but sell gold to Uncle Dursley for the next two and a half months. (Dudley's whinging was an expected bonus.)

Harry didn't even have to negotiate for travel or food privileges. He was simply told that dinner was at 6 sharp, and not to be late. Uncle Vernon tried to go into a tirade about making sure that Harry didn't waste food and how he had to keep them informed of his whereabouts, but Harry looked sideways and cocked his eyebrow at the man, and the noise abruptly ceased.

This would be a good summer. Money could buy more than Harry had expected, apparently.

o0O—O0o

That summer of glorious freedom cost Harry 10 Galleons – he sold one Galleon a week. Getting his vault key back from the Weasleys took a bit of effort, but Harry stood firm, and was able to make use of the Night Bus (why didn't the name change when the sun was up, Harry wondered) to visit Diagon Alley at need. There was a bit of money (in pounds) given to Uncle Vernon to arrange a meeting with an American. The Yank (a Mr. Cooper, from Nevada, selling specialty variety of steel) gave Harry some advice on how to get into sharpshooting, but even better, helped Harry purchase a manual from 'across the pond.' He was amused that a Brit wanted to enter the shooting sports, and had nothing but contempt for how Englishmen deprived themselves of the right to self-defense.

Harry let it all wash over him. He needed accuracy – missing the target destroyed the effect of what little spells he knew. Putting up with a Muggle Yank's gunpowder fetish for a few hours was a minor annoyance, and paid off handsomely. The two air pistols, 50,000 pellets, 500 CO2 cartridges, and protective goggles made a significant dent in Harry's collection of Muggle bills, but Harry felt it was completely worth it. Immediately after the purchase, one of the air pistols was forwarded to Remus Lupin via Hedwig. When it was returned to Harry three days later, the other air pistol was sent off for the same … enhancements. Harry later regretted the purchase of all those supplies, as the changes made by Moony made them completely unnecessary, but it wasn't a big deal. Just some money spent in error. Better prepared than not. And it was what the Dursleys expected to see, so it helped a bit in that regard.

Harry turned the garage into his own shooting gallery, learning to hit a 15mm washer in the air with a pellet better than 99 times out of a hundred. He hoped that his accuracy skills would transfer over when he used a wand. Somehow, he thought it would help.

Harry also worked on strength training. His endurance wasn't bad – not great, but not bad – but he was pretty sure that at Hogwarts, he was stuck with running. That meant bulking up had to be done during the summer. Not much could be done over two months without potions, but every little bit helped, Harry felt.

Harry's trips to the public library centered on math, rhetoric, and logic.

"Wizards have no common sense. I've spent way too much time in their world, and I need to learn how to think like a normal person," he explained to Uncle Vernon. Math was explained as Harry's interest in finance. The big man approved; normal was good. Normal was safe. And Harry needed to keep Uncle Vernon feeling safe.

And in the privacy of his own room, Harry read about Runes and Arithmancy. He knew that he'd need to hire a tutor during the summers for the mathematics, but first he needed to know what parts of math he needed to learn.

As the summer wore on, Harry began to have trouble sleeping, being interrupted by nightmares of Voldemort doing … whatever it was he was doing at the time. Usually planning, kvetching, or torturing a loyal follower. What is with these people? They follow a guy that will hurt and kill them? Loyalty is something the wanker is actively trying to suppress? Harry quickly understood that he was receiving 'live' visions of Voldemort's activities, and Harry's new training in logic quickly helped him regain his sleep: Harry's sleep patterns changed. Harry was now up to all hours of the night, doing the bulk of his reading, and he slept in until just before noon, when The Dark Wanker's activities never made it into visions. While Harry still had to endure the painful visions, getting a full day/night's/whatever's sleep helped immensely in shaking off the effects.

The big test of Harry's skills came unexpectedly toward the middle of August. Harry was on his way to the Library again, being shadowed by Dudley, who was trying to intimidate Harry. He was much less successful than he had been in years past, and couldn't understand how the balance of power had changed. As the sky grew dark in the middle of the summer day, Harry looked around, uneasy. Dudley was still muttering about "… gonna hurt you good," having no idea that things were not as they should be.

Harry finally spotted something to account for this unseasonable weather – two forms in the sky that made his blood run cold.

"Dud! Shut up and get back home! I'll hold them off!" Without looking back at his cousin, Harry took off his backpack and reached inside to an interior pocket. The air pistol felt heavy and cold in his hand – a comforting weight at the moment.

Harry risked a look back, and found Dudley rooted to the spot, eyes big in fright. "Get moving!" Dudley didn't move, eyes blindly fixed on nothing but the horrors inside his head. Harry turned to face the incoming Dementors. It doesn't seem like Dudley will attack me from behind right now.

The air pistol had a third position on its safety, one unmarked by anything except some scratches on the frame. Harry moved it to that position now, and there was a brief flash of blue light from within the grip. Harry took bead on the first monster, barely 30 yards away, and pulled the trigger.

A brief puff from the block of metal in his hands, and the monster jerked, stopped moving forward, and plummeted straight toward the earth. Harry repeated the shot at the second Dementor, with the same results. He flicked the safety to the normal "safe" position, grabbed Dudley's massive (and disturbingly flabby, Harry noticed) arm, and attempted to drag him toward the house. After a few tugs, Dudley's legs began to move. It wasn't until they were almost back that Dudley's mouth followed suit.

"What were those things?"

"Monsters. They're called Dementors."

"Whadidya do to them?"

"The same thing I'll do to anything else that comes at me – put it down hard." Dudley nodded at that; it was an attitude that he respected.

Just before they entered the house, Harry turned to his cousin. "Look, Dud. Nothing happened, we didn't see anything, we didn't do anything. You just followed me around until I gave in and you chased me home, okay?"

Dudley nodded. It was his standard refrain, anyway.

Harry went up to his room to write a thank you note to Remus. The upgrades you made to my air pistol worked as promised, and I can now report that a Dementor can be put down with a shot to the head. Recoil was a little heavier than normal, but very manageable. I would like some ideas on how to carry it accessibly while wearing robes for the coming school year …