Note: You lucky, lucky people. Two chapters for the price of one. Well, Mhd was making me stressed so I thought what the hell. I battled through a dodgy net connection to bring you this Monday update, be proud!
Note on the previous chapter: Yes, tovarisch is Russian for comrade. (Or, interestingly enough, bedfellow, as we discovered to our great mirth.) As to why Severus can speak it… Other than the reason I like giving magical characters wholly non-magical talents, well, I'll hopefully think of one and work it in later. The little brain's already a-whirring!
Ok, we're slowing down a bit now but hopefully we'll be back to exciting stuff in the next couple of chapters!
Chapter Four
A Farewell to Normality
Vernon Dursley had not been anticipating a ring of the doorbell at half-past ten at night, and this made him nervous as he moved through the house to answer it. Not, of course, that Vernon would ever admit to being nervous within the four walls of which he was Lord and Master, but ever since the… (Vernon would barely bring himself to think it) wizard had visited last summer and explained the depths of despair that their lot were sinking into, well, Vernon had been a little uneasy. He sighed. It was all Petunia's sister's fault. If they had never taken in her son then there would be no reason for him and his family to be jumping at shadows, afraid to leave their own home thanks to forces that they were unable and unwilling to understand. But there was no use in dwelling on past decisions, irreversible as they were. The doorbell had just rung for the second time with a shrill, sharp urgency that demanded attention. Vernon took a deep breath and opened the door. For a brief moment, he thought he had been the victim of a schoolboy-esque prank; there was no-one to be seen outside the house. It was then that Vernon looked down at the doorstep, into the cool and stern green eyes of a horribly familiar tabby cat.
Vernon did not know why the cat was so instantly recognisable, nor why he should feel a cold sense of dread associated with its presence, but then he remembered. The first, and indeed only, time that he had seen this cat was the day before Harry had been left on their doorstep. It had been reading a map on the corner of Privet Drive, and later it had stationed itself on the garden wall. It was definitely the same cat, even sixteen years later he recognised the strange square markings round its eyes, like spectacles almost. This cat was most certainly a harbinger of bad news. But who had rung the doorbell? Surely not the cat. Whilst it was, of course, physically possible for the cat to have climbed up the creeper beside the door and pressed the bell, Vernon was of the firm belief that cats did not possess the intelligence required to ring doorbells in order to attract the attention of the householder. They just yowled, didn't they? The cat on the doorstep was showing no signs of yowling; in fact it was so eerily silent that it gave the impression that yowling was wholly beneath it. It simply stared at him with clever, unblinking eyes.
"Who is it Vernon?"
Petunia's voice from upstairs pulled Vernon from his thoughts, forcing him to focus on the problem at hand.
"It's…" he began, but then he trailed off weakly. He couldn't very well say 'it's a cat', could he? The tabby appeared to give a sigh of impatience, and flicked its tail towards the open door behind him. It was not going to move until he let it into the house; that much was obvious.
"Vernon?" Petunia pressed. Vernon heard movement from the rest of the house, and he knew that if he looked behind him he would see Dudley and Petunia's faces peering over the banisters. He met the cat's gaze once more.
"Oh, go on then," he muttered, finally giving in. He stood back and let the cat into the house. When he turned to face the creature, having locked and bolted the door firmly, he jumped about three feet into the air in shock. Where a small tabby cat should have been, there stood a middle-aged woman wearing long, emerald green robes and the same square spectacles as the cat had had. On the landing, Petunia gave a muted shriek and Dudley began to sidle back towards his room as surreptitiously as he could. Vernon, realising that he had just let one of those into his house without knowing, and being unsure whether this pseudo-Catwoman was friend or foe, panicked.
"I'm warning you, Catwoman!" he cried, scrabbling about in the darkness for a suitable weapon and coming up with the empty umbrella stand. "I'm armed!"
"Hardly, Mr Dursley," said the witch matter-of-factly. "But there is no cause to be alarmed. My name is Min…"
"Professor McGonagall?"
Harry had appeared at the top of the stairs, no doubt alerted by the noises from the other occupants of the house.
"What are you doing here?"
"There's been a change of plan," Professor McGonagall said shortly, before turning back to Vernon. "As Mr Potter said, I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, acting head of Hogwarts." She paused. "I take it, Mr Dursley, that you are aware of the situation as regards your protection?"
Vernon's blood ran cold. Ever since Harry had returned for his final summer at Privet Drive, and he had explained the dire straits that their world had been plunged into, Vernon had been in two minds. On the one hand, he was half-convinced that it was all an elaborate and sinister hoax designed to cheat him out of his home and livelihood. On the other, the verity with which the boy had spoken as he tried to explain… Vernon, despite all his shortcomings, loved his family, and he would do whatever was in his power to protect them as long as his courage didn't fail him at the last minute, as it so often did. He nodded slowly to the witch.
"Unforseen circumstances mean that we are going to have to bring the date of your departure forward by a few days," she continued.
Vernon's heart was not getting any lighter.
"W-w-when?" he finally managed to choke out.
"My colleague, Miss Jones, will be here in ten minutes," said Professor McGonagall. "How soon can you be ready to leave?"
Vernon dropped the umbrella stand. He had been expecting at least a day's notice, not a few minutes.
"Petunia," he called up the stairs.
"I heard, Vernon." His wife paused. "The suitcases are packed."
Vernon breathed a sigh of relief. In his indecision, they were constantly switching between packing and unpacking the suitcases, performing this task several times a day. To be fair, it was mainly he who unpacked and Petunia who worriedly repacked. His wife, being slightly more experienced in magical matters than he thanks to her sister, was taking the whole thing far more seriously than he was, and it was only now that Vernon thought it might just be profitable to pay attention to her fears.
"In that case, all we need do is wait for Hestia," Professor McGonagall's expression did not soften as she continued to speak. "I can assure you that you will be in very capable hands. Hestia has been in the Office for Necessary Muggle Liaison for many years."
"The what?" asked Vernon weakly.
"The Office for Necessary… Oh, it's not important right now," said the professor. She looked Vernon up and down. "Perhaps you'd like to get dressed before you leave?"
It was only then that Vernon remembered that he was wearing his pyjamas, and he took the witch up on her suggestion, returning upstairs to the bedroom.
"Professor McGonagall," he heard Harry saying as he passed him on the landing, "what's going on?"
Vernon was not altogether sure that he wanted to hear the answer. He had long since worked comfortably on the principle that ignorance is bliss, and even now, in these most uncertain of circumstances, a small part of him was longing to remain with that mindset. What you don't know can't hurt you, at least that was what Vernon had always thought. Thankfully, Professor McGonagall's answer did nothing to disturb him any further.
"All in good time, Potter. I shall explain fully once your relations are safely away with Hestia."
Vernon breathed an inward sigh of relief. When he entered the bedroom, he found that Petunia was already fully-dressed and was flitting around the room, taking things out of the near-bursting suitcase on the bed, replacing them with other things and then shaking her head and deciding she had it right before, starting the entire process again. She was muttering to herself, and although Vernon couldn't tell what she was saying, he had a very good idea.
"Petunia," he began nervously as he reached into the depths of the suitcase to find a pair of socks, "is everything alright?"
He had expected a sharp and sarcastic retort, in-keeping with the caustic nature that Petunia always retained when 'odd' things happened to them, so he was surprised by the reaction that he received.
"Oh Vernon," she whispered, and as her frantic hands came to rest on the lid of the case, he saw that they were shaking violently. "I'm scared, Vernon."
Vernon Dursley was not a man to admit fear, but the angst in his wife's eyes was boring into him. If he lied now, she would know. He swallowed.
"So am I," he admitted. "But…"
"I'm even scared for Harry," said Petunia with a weak laugh. "How ridiculous. I've spent all these years just wishing to be rid of him and now the time has come…" She shook her head. "What if it was Dudley, Vernon? He's no older than Dudley and he's on the frontline of a war. Imagine if it was Dudley…"
Vernon didn't want to. His mind was flooded with images of Dudley on the beaches at Normandy, engaged in aerial dogfights, sinking in a depth-charged submarine. He had never held any intention for Dudley to join the armed forces, and now he knew why. Dudley in a war, someone of Dudley's age fighting in a war… The idea was made even more terrifying by the inherent unknown quality that… magic… had about it. All of a sudden their lives were being controlled by something that was far, far bigger than they were, and it was this, as well as the horrific battlefield images, that made Vernon so fearful.
At that point, Petunia pulled herself out of her moment of weakness and continued her last-minute alterations. They were just manhandling the suitcases down the stairs when they heard a car pull up in the street outside.
"Right on time," said Professor McGonagall, although Vernon could see no evidence of a watch or another timepiece on her person. He grunted, the old fear of the unknown settling heavily in his limbs. He tried to mask it.
"Don't suppose you could wave your magic wand and make this lighter?" he said to the witch, receiving a politely amused look in return.
"I'm afraid not, Mr Dursley," she said. "You see, magic always leaves a trace, and since Mr Potter is under seventeen, any magic used in his proximity is watched even more closely. Besides," she paused and her face became stern once more, "we don't want to draw attention to ourselves any more than necessary."
Vernon thought that this was a bit odd coming from the woman who had turned into a cat in order to gain entry into their home, but uncharacteristically, he remained silent as he bumped the suitcase down the final three steps. The doorbell rang on cue, and Professor McGonagall answered it.
"Hello Minerva, hi Harry. Everything ready?" asked the newest arrival. The older witch nodded and moved aside to allow Vernon his first glimpse of Hestia Jones. She was small and plump with chin length black hair, and thankfully she wasn't wearing ridiculous robes. However, despite the fact that he had never seen her before, there was something about her appearance that made her generic black coat and skirt look completely out of place. It was as if the Dalai Lama had just walked down the street wearing jeans and a Che Guevara T-shirt.
"Mr Dursley I presume?" she said, taking his hand and pumping it up and down with vigour. "I'm Hestia Jones, nice to meet you."
Vernon couldn't say anything in return. Presently, the little witch smiled, a genuine, genial smile, and Vernon decided that although he would never trust these other folks as far as he could throw them, perhaps this Hestia Jones was not going to be all bad.
"We'll be taking your car, if that's alright by you," she continued. "Mine is, well…" She broke off abruptly, as if she had said too much. "Well, that's by the by." She finished, and she looked the Dursleys and their suitcases up and down. "All ready for the off?" she asked brightly. "I'll let you say your goodbyes then. Minerva, could I borrow you for a moment please?"
Hestia hopped into the house and she and the professor adjourned to the kitchen. Vernon noticed that they didn't put the light on. He turned back to face Harry.
"Well," said the boy. "I guess this is it."
Vernon was a man who prided himself on being able to expound on any number of topics to fill an awkward silence, but for once in his life, he had absolutely no idea what to say. This was going to be the last time that he saw his nephew, a boy that, however grudgingly, had been a part of his life for the past sixteen years. Who knew whether this time next year he would be alive or not? Vernon thought of the times in which he had wished and prayed for this day to come, of everything that had happened in the past sixteen years thanks to Harry, but now… There were so many things that he could say, but none of them seemed right. None of them seemed sincere. None of them could convey his true feelings, because he had no idea what those were himself. So he settled for something simple, something neutral that could not be misconstrued.
"Goodbye," he said, somewhat gruffer than he had expected, the rest of the family echoing his words.
"Bye," said Harry in reply. He too looked awkward, as if there was something more that ought to be said, but no-one was prepared to take the plunge and say it. They remained in the uncomfortable silence until the witches returned, perfect timing. Vernon strongly suspected that they had been eavesdropping in the dark kitchen.
"All ready?" asked Hestia, her bright tone horribly false in the dour hallway. "Good, good." She dropped a clutch of keys into Professor McGonagall's open palm. "Remember what I said Minerva, I don't want to have to explain the inexplicable to Arthur and Charity."
If the professor was as confused by this statement as Vernon was, then she didn't show it. The six people stood in the hallway for a moment before Hestia seemed to decide that action was necessary and she stepped out of the front door.
"Bye Minerva, Harry," she said. "Hopefully we'll speak soon."
The merry light had gone from her eyes, and now she simply looked worried. Vernon took a deep breath and followed her out into the night. No-one spoke as they loaded the suitcases into the boot and got into their seats. Hestia climbed into the back of the car beside Dudley, who accepted this without a word, but this didn't stop him from casting nervous glances askance at the little witch every few seconds. Vernon slipped the key into the ignition and paused before turning it, looking to Petunia for reassurance. For the Dursleys, who were perfectly normal thank you very much, the idea of performing a moonlight flit from Privet Drive, where tongues would wag about their disappearance for at least three months, was nigh on unthinkable. Vernon was on the verge of unloading the cases and running back into the house, bolting the door behind them. Then Petunia patted his shoulder and gave him a smile that did not quite reach her eyes, but it was enough. Vernon started the engine and backed out of the driveway. None of the curtains in Privet Drive twitched as they passed. Hestia was staring out of the side window intently, and finally a satisfied expression came over her face as they reached the end of the street.
"Left," she said simply, and continued her lookout.
As he turned, Vernon looked back at number four, still in darkness with a nondescript black hatchback parked outside. He couldn't risk becoming sentimental, he was a grown man for heaven's sakes, but there was a pang of nostalgia that he felt on realising that for the foreseeable future, he was not coming back to his home. Perhaps he'd never see it again; he didn't know. Such was the uncertainty of their life. They turned the corner fully and the house disappeared from view.
"Well," he said, desperate to fill the silence that enveloped the car. "That's that."
He glanced at Dudley in the rear-view mirror, and then at Petunia beside him. Their expressions were identical – pensive and worried. They had no idea where they were going, and even less idea what might await them when they arrived at their unknown destination, but they were on their way and there was nothing more to be done. Somewhat inevitably, Vernon found his thoughts drifting back to the place that they had just left, and the boy that they had left in it. He thought of Harry, and he wondered what his nephew was going to do now.
Note2: Ok, I'll admit here and now that the Dursleys are not my strongest characters to write, but I hope you enjoyed this little look inside Vernon's head nonetheless. Onwards!