Chapter 3

When Harry awoke to only a faint twinge coming from yesterday's vivid burn, he was more frightened than relieved. There was another sign of his freakishness, and he knew he would be in trouble if his aunt or uncle found out. They might even decide to burn him all over again, because it wasn't natural for him to heal so quickly. He would just have to fake the pain and hoped no one made him take off his shirt. In the mean time, he could enjoy being nearly pain free for once in his life.

In fact, the following week took a turn for the better. His aunt, still assuming he was badly hurt, let him out of most of his usual chores. His uncle, also supposing he was already in pain, didn't bother to punish him further. Dudley, meanwhile, was so terrified from his experience that he avoided Harry like the plague. All Harry had to do was hunch himself up and whimper pathetically when anyone was around and he was left alone. Of course it didn't last.

With only one week left in August, the new school year loomed larger than ever. Mrs. Dursley had managed to iron and pack away all of Dudley's school uniform as well as everything else the school had insisted he needed and quite a few things it didn't. Harry's own valise consisted of an old suitcase with a broken latch, Dudley's old clothes dyed an awful splotchy grey colour, and a stack full of ratty third hand books that were at least one edition out of date from the ones on the list. It looked as though Harry would be arriving at school looking like some third world orphan wrapped up in elephant skin.

The approaching school year was a maelstrom of high strung emotions on his aunt's part, the usual gruff annoyance on his uncle's, and vapid indifference coupled with occasions of unpleasant tantrums on Dudley's. It also meant the usual end of year lectures from his aunt and uncle. Harry was to remember that he was a freak, that he was lucky to have been taken into such a good home, and that if he made up lies about his family he'd be severely punished. This year they were coming down on him especially strong, because this was the first year he was going to a school that would hold him overnight. Happily for Harry, punishments towards the end of the holidays tended to be mild; he supposed they didn't want anyone to see him wincing a bunch and get the wrong idea. Unfortunately, this also meant his uncle wanted to have another look at his burn.

"Well," his uncle said, surprisingly cheerful after he got Harry to take his shirt off, "This has healed up nicely." Harry supposed that his uncle forgave the freakishly fast healing because of the nearness of the school year. Though he did get a light paddling for 'faking' to get out of chores. Then Harry's short vacation was over with interest as his aunt packed and repacked her son's boxes, though she didn't make Harry do the ironing again. The final days before Dudley was to be shipped off were total chaos. His aunt repacked everything three times, the first time because she was afraid his clothes would get stuffy and needed to be aired, the second time because she forgot to put back one of his shirts which, according to her meticulous packing system, should have gone at the bottom, and the third time because Dudley, in the fit of one of his tantrums, screamed that he wouldn't go if he couldn't bring his television and tore all of his uniforms and such out and strew them about his room. His uncle finally managed to console him by getting him a pocket sized television that could easily be smuggled in and hidden. In the meantime, Harry was left with the task of putting everything back once his aunt finished the ironing. By that day, Dudley had completely forgotten his fear of Harry and was taking every chance he could to remind Harry about the freak school he had to go to, where all the bad children had to go because nobody loved them. Personally, Harry thought he'd rather go to Stonewall High than to Smelting, especially if Dudley was going to be there, but he wisely kept silent.

Sometimes, Harry wished that there was a third option, like some secret school just perfect for him. The night before both boys were to leave for their schools, Harry had a very strange dream. He dreamed that an owl came to his cupboard with a letter, a letter just for Harry, that invited him to a magical school. The school was full of people in black cloaks who waved sticks around like batons and did wondrous magic. Harry had his own stick and he used it to turn Dudley into a pig. Then he flew off on a broom stick, flying away into the clouds were other children waited, cheering him on. Finally he woke up, still smiling, until a sound like thunder thumped down the stairs, knocking dust and spiders over him. Outside, it began to rain.

That morning, Harry's aunt was especially critical over how he cooked the breakfast. She didn't approve of the careful, arm's length way he'd been handling the frying pan ever since the iron burn. It was even worse than Dudley's birthday. Dudley himself looked rather green, as though it had only just occurred to him what all this fuss and shopping and packing was about. He only managed to eat a plate and a half, rather than his usual three. His mother cooed over him in her motherly, annoying way, a sure way to set Dudley off on a tantrum, while his father thumped him on the back in a proud manner. Harry himself managed to choke down everything that Dudley didn't eat, though he was feeling a little green himself. He had never been anywhere, really, except to school and to Mrs. Figg's house. Everything Dudley had been telling him about Stonewall High came to mind and Harry shuddered. To calm himself, he began a frantic tapped out tune on the table's edge. Luckily, no one was paying him any mind.

After breakfast was the worst bit. Emotions were high, his aunt was already in tears over her ickle Dudleykins, and Dudley was taking out his sudden misgivings by whapping anything that came near him with his smelting stick. This included Harry when he was instructed to drag Dudley's things downstairs. Finally, the morning was over and Harry was left to watch as his aunt, uncle, and cousin took off in a car loaded down with everything Dudley had insisted he needed, including the hand held television.

Harry was given general directions on how to reach the school and left to fend for himself, dragging his broken suitcase down the street.

Given a choice, he would have gone back into the house after they had left and spent a moment of precious free time to just breathe before he set out. As it was, they had locked him out when they left, so there was nothing to do but to set off himself. He had only made it down towards the end of Privet Drive when Mrs. Figg came out to pear at him over her fence.

"Where on Earth are you going like that?" she asked, sounding rather bewildered, "You aren't running away from home, are you boy?"

"I'm going to my new school," he explained and then, when she continued to give him that concerned look he added, "It isn't that far, really." He held up his paper of directions as though to prove it. Mrs. Figg tsked over it, shaking her head with disapproval.

"You can't walk all the way there," she insisted, "It would take half the day!"

"Then I had better go on," Harry answered, frowning, "I'm supposed to get there by eleven." Mrs. Figg hesitated for a moment, her long bony fingers rubbing absently at his instruction sheet. Finally she got a determined look to her eyes.

"Then I had better take you," she said firmly. When Harry tried to protest, she only stood firmer than ever and finally settled the matter by refusing to return his directions sheet. With that taken care of, she led him back into her house so that she could get ready.

Harry was very familiar with Mrs. Figg's house; he had spent numerous hours there whenever the Dursleys had to go out and they didn't want to let him have the run of the house. Though it tended to be dull and smelled funny it still beat being locked into his cupboard, and Mrs. Figg was always nice to him, even if she did seem just the slightest bit over fond of her cats.

Mrs. Figg finally came back to join him wearing what seemed to be a pair of goggles as well as a large hat tied under her chin with a vibrant scarf. It looked almost as though she intended to take him flying rather than for a drive. She also sported an enormous sack that she tried to pass off as 'my purse'. It was purple with orange flowers sewn onto it and smelled just as off as the rest of her house. It was also stuffed full with bits of tissue falling out the top. Harry even thought he heard a muffled 'mew' coming from inside.

"Aha, ready!" she proclaimed, and led him excitedly towards her car, which turned out to be a very old looking contraption with no top that had been being used to hold potted plants in her garage. Before they could leave the plants had to be removed, leaving only a little bit of dirt behind and the occasional leaf, and her driveway was mostly cleared of debris and cats. Harry began to wonder how she got about to do her shopping, and if he wouldn't have been better off walking, directions or no directions.

"Off we go!" Mrs. Figg declared, after Harry had shoved his case down at his feet, there not being room in the back. The car let out a ferocious bang, belched a lot of smoke, and began to hum softly. The hum soothed Harry. It was music, in its own way, and he was able to use it to tune out everything else. He didn't even mind, much, when Mrs. Figg tuned into a station offering what sounded like severe abuse to an accordion, accompanied by the strangling of a saxophone. The hum of the car enveloped him, the wind whipped at his hair threatening to steal his glasses right off his face, and the rain that had been coming off and on all morning failed to fall. He couldn't think of a better way to face his new school.