Chapter Seven
For the next few weeks, it seemed to Simon as if Harry was doing his utmost to avoid him. In the classroom, Harry kept his eyes carefully averted, unless the situation called for direct eye contact for politeness' sake. Even when called upon separately after school or during lunchtime to check his wellbeing, Simon could not elicit more than a few mumbled assurances that he was in good health. It was no easy task – bringing Harry back out of his shell – but he did the best he could. He just hoped that it would be good enough.
"And so what are you going to do with yourself this evening?" Jackie asked, her voice floating along the corridor to Simon.
"I want to go to the library and see Janie," replied a voice, which he recognised instantly as Harry's, "and maybe if I'm lucky then I'll be allowed to borrow a book." This last part was said in an excited near-whisper, a sign that Simon had come to recognise as excitement from the young boy. He stopped and listened with a smile. It was rare for him to hear Harry unguarded, but he got on well with many members of staff. He felt it was a shame that he was not one of them.
"That would be lovely, wouldn't it? I know how much you enjoy reading, Harry," he could hear Jackie saying. "And how will you get into town?" Now, he could hear the wariness in her voice, and for a moment wondered whether or not Harry could detect it as well.
Around the corner, Harry frowned slightly at the slight change in her voice and wondered what it meant. "I'll probably walk down after school," he confided. "It's not very far."
Harry shrugged slightly – it would only take half an hour or so for him to walk there from school, but from the expression on Mrs Roberts face, that was perhaps a little too long for most people.
"It's good to walk lots, isn't it? Mr Glass said that walking is good exercise," Harry added quickly. Around the corner Simon smiled despite himself, and Jackie made a sound of disapproval.
"Of course, but I think perhaps you're walking a little too far by yourself," Jackie said to him. "Maybe Mr Glass or I could drive you into the town centre if that's what you want, and we could go to the library with you. Young boys shouldn't be walking around the town by themselves. It's not safe."
Simon took that as his cue to appear from around the corner. "I'll be happy to go with you, Harry." He wondered how long Jackie had known he was there.
Instantly, Harry's eyes dropped to the floor, and he began biting his lip nervously. "Maybe I won't go tonight then if you don't think it's safe. I'll wait until the weekend and then I won't be on my own," Harry said quietly, looking up at them sharply as he said this, and glancing between them both. "I don't want to be any trouble. Thank you, though."
And then he was gone, running through the school in that strange sudden fleeing manner the teachers had come to associate with him.
"What on earth is going on, Simon?" Jackie asked impatiently, "Why is he avoiding you? What have you done?"
Simon sighed and ran a hand roughly through his hair. "Look, it's complicated! I'll tell you all about it tomorrow, I promise, but right now, I think I should go after him. He's going to go into town, I'm sure of it."
As she watched Simon running away from her and out to the car park, she wondered why it was that recently, people seemed to leave her at speed.
Harry reflected, once he was halfway to town, that he had run quite far without stopping. Usually it took him far longer to reach this area, and he stopped to let himself rest. He had been surprised when neither the school's secretary nor his teacher had responded to the lie he had told. He felt the strange tingly feeling in his scalp that he always got when he lied, or when someone else told one. Hadn't they felt it, too? Clearly, this was something which needed investigating.
With this in mind, he began to run again – his short break having been enough to let him run all the way into the town without stopping.
"Hello, Harry!" Janie said brightly when he arrived at the library. She had been re-shelving books, and appeared pleased for the reprieve. "How are you? Did you enjoy The Secret Garden?"
"Very much, thank you," he replied, smiling broadly. "And I'm okay today, how are you?"
He looked around the library, and felt the same calm feeling that he rarely experienced anywhere else. It was a feeling of safety, he would reflect in later years, that was lacking in the vast majority of his world. He knew that the Dursleys scorned the library, and by extension, those who worked there or dared to read for pleasure, which made it his secret joy. He had also never seen his family near or even mention the name of the other old bookshop in which Mr Bones worked up the street, and so it was another haven for him. The only other place in which he felt the same calmness was his cupboard in the dead of night – when he knew that the Dursleys were all in bed asleep and wouldn't bother him. Then, he knew he was safe, and untouchable. Only then, would he relax and allow himself to be calm.
Janie had been talking ceaselessly since he'd asked her about her day, and Harry felt badly for not listening fully, though he loved the library, and the large dusty shelves usually took the majority of his attention. She smiled and looked to him.
"You seem distracted today, why don't I show you some of the new books we've got in?" She took hold of his hand and led him into the familiar territory of the children's section. "You might enjoy this. It's a new edition of The Hobbit, though I read it when I was a lot older than you are now, you still might find it enjoyable." She pressed it into his hands, and Harry smiled again.
"Anyway, I'd love to stay around and chat, but I've got so much to be doing around here that I really ought to get back to work." She glanced at her mother, sitting behind the librarian's desk, and in return received an expectant look. "I'll come and speak to you soon, though."
Mrs Thompson turned her glare away from her daughter, when she saw she was getting back to work, and watched young Harry Potter disappear into the myriad of shelves around him. Though it was always lovely to see a young child so absorbed in literature, she didn't like the circumstances surrounding why he was this way. A woman hidden behind a stack of books appeared before her, and all thought of the young boy was struck from her thoughts.
Once he was sure he was on his own, Harry smiled contentedly and clutched the book in his hands closer to his chest. The library would be closing very shortly – most of the other people were making their way to the desk. This was his favourite time in the library, when everyone else was leaving, and he could pretend that all this was his domain.
It felt like a long time to him, but Harry was sure it had not been that long when the lights at the far end of the library went out. The library was closed. He snapped his book shut, wondering how he had become so absorbed in its pages so quickly, and slipped further down in his seat.
If only he could live in the library, and spend all his time here surrounded by comforting literature. If only!
And then, with reflexes few would ever have, he darted behind one of the larger bookshelves and squeezed into a small cranny in the corner of the room, which he suspected only he knew about.
"Harry?" Janie's voice echoed through the silent room, and he did not answer. "I think he must have left, Mum."
And then she was gone, too, leaving Harry curled up snugly in his hiding place, The Hobbit pressed against his chest, and a slight smile on his lips. Tonight, if never again, the library would be all his.
Little did he know, that outside, one man was nearly running down the street to ruin his dreams.
"Excuse me! Excuse me, madam."
Mrs Thompson turned to address the flustered man approaching. "I apologise, sir, but the library is closed for today," she said briskly, "but we reopen at nine o'clock sharp tomorrow morning."
"It's not that, but I think a young boy may still be inside the building. I saw him go in not so long since, and he never came out," Simon explained, still gasping for breath from his short run down the street.
She gave him a sceptical glance. "You have been following this child? I must say, sir, that it seems rather unseemly of you to be following a young boy around the town!"
Simon winced at the volume of her voice, and hoped that people weren't beginning to stare. "I apologise, but his name is Harry Potter. He's a student of mine – I teach at the primary school up the road, and I'm worried about him. He mentioned coming here alone after school finished, and I wanted to make sure he got here safely." He said all this in a rush of breath, and though her sceptical expression never wavered, he thought he saw something in her gaze alter when he mentioned the name of his young charge.
"Harry Potter, you say?" she said quietly. "It is possible that he has escaped without your notice – he has been known to evade even the most observant of us, but to be sure, accompany me inside, and we shall check once more for him."
He felt flooded with gratitude for this woman, and he smiled and thanked her profusely for this small favour.
"Do not thank me yet, for he may yet not be here, and be sure that it is not for you that I do this, but for myself," she explained, re-opening the large double doors. "After all, if anything were to happen to him locked inside, the bureaucracy rather than the guilt might kill me."
Inside it was as dark and as still as if no one had set foot there in years, let alone a mere few minutes.
"Hello, Harry? Are you in here?" Simon called out into the silence.
Mrs Thompson took his arm, and silently lead him through the library towards the children's section. Here also, the room was still, though Simon wondered whether or not it was all in his mind that he was suddenly certain that Harry was there.
"Harry? Are you here?" Mrs Thompson called this time.
"You can't stay here all night, Harry," Simon said clearly. "What would you do if there was a fire, or if something else happened? Who would protect you?"
He thought he heard something to one side then, and Simon hurried over to the far corner of the library. "Harry? Please?"
Simon sighed with relief when he saw a familiar pair of bright green eyes staring up at him from the dusty floor. He smiled faintly and bent down to pick him up. "Oh Harry, child, what are you doing in here alone?"
Harry stared down at his ragged trainers, clutching his book as if it were a lifeline, but did not answer.
"Oh, you've found him!" Mrs Thompson cried from nearby. "Harry Potter! What were you thinking of, trying to stay in here after hours! Anything could have happened to you! Imagine how I'd feel coming in tomorrow to find that something awful had happened to you in the night, and no one had been here to help you! Don't you ever try anything like this ever again, you hear me?"
Harry bit his lip, and kept his eyes glued to the floor. Even in the gloom, Simon could see the shame in his face. "I won't, Mrs Thompson. I promise."
"I should hope so!" she cried. Turning to face Simon, she said, "I don't know how to thank you enough, sir. I can't stop thinking about all the awful things that could have happened here tonight, if only you hadn't been here."
"Any time, madam, and don't worry any further. I'll make sure he gets home all right," Simon said, pressing a firm hand to Harry's shoulder.
"Thank you, Mr - ?"
"Simon Glass, madam."
"Thank you, Mr Glass," she said, giving him a rare smile, and offering her hand. "Amelia Thompson, and if there's anything I can ever do for you, please call."
With that, Harry found himself being steered from his safe haven and out into the bright street outside. Mr Glass steered him up the street, to a car he vaguely recognised as being usually in the school car park.
"I'll give you a lift home," Simon said, opening the passenger door for Harry. The boy obediently got inside, and the door closed behind him with a soft click.
The drive was one of quiet reflection, for both parties, and when they arrived in Privet Drive, Simon was careful to park a little further down the street so that Mrs Dursley would not see them sitting in the car together.
"Now, please tell me why you were trying to stay in the library after hours."
Harry swallowed and began to chew his lip thoughtfully; uncertain as to whether or not he should stretch the truth a little. He looked up to Mr Glass, meeting his eyes briefly. "I like the library. It's comfortable, and quiet, and I feel safe there."
"But it might not be safe in there alone at night," Simon said quietly. "If there had been an accident, no one would have known you were in there. No one would have known there was anyone in there to save if a fire had broken out. And I'm sure your relatives would worry if you didn't return home in the evening."
He thought he heard a snort of disbelief from the boy then, but dismissed it as his own thoughts. "I like the library at night. It's like my own world," Harry said quietly, his eyes not quite in the same time. "I can be anyone I want there."
A thought struck Simon then, and he closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before he opened them. "Harry, please answer me truthfully now. Have you stayed in the library over night before?"
A long silence. Then a soft whisper. "Yes."
"Have you ever stayed inside the school at night before?"
"No, you stopped me," Harry whispered. Simon's mind cast back to the time he'd found Harry in the school library after three o'clock, and he felt something twist uncomfortably inside him.
"Please," Simon said urgently, his voice dropping to a near whisper like Harry's. "Please tell me why you don't want to go home at night. Tell me what's wrong, so that I can help you."
An odd bitterness washed over Harry's face then, and Simon was sure that he'd never seen anything like it on the face of anyone so young before. "There is nothing you can do to help me."
"Let me try!" Simon begged, feeling desperation wash over him. He couldn't let this opportunity escape him. He had to help Harry somehow, whatever it took, and this was just more proof that not all was well in the Dursley household.
Harry looked up at him with what could only be a wary hope in his eyes, but doubt on his face. No one had ever been able to help him before, no matter how much they claimed to have wanted to, and he was loathe to believe that this man could make a difference. Nevertheless, he saw little harm in letting him try, and though Harry knew not to get his hopes up anymore, it was hard not to.
Seeing the mistrust in his student, Simon sighed. "Let's just be friends, okay?"
Harry nodded, smiling slightly.
"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but anything you do tell me can be a secret between us, yeah? And if things aren't very nice for you at home, then I'll try to help you, but you need to talk to me." Simon stared at Harry, who stared back, and he felt it was a little like being x-rayed.
"Okay, thank you." Harry's voice was quiet, even in the stillness of the street. "Friends?"
"Friends," said Simon, taking Harry's small offered hand in his, and pressing it gently.
They both jumped when a shrill shriek filled the air from further down the street, and Simon recognised the sound as Mrs Dursley. She was waiting for Harry. The boy's face looked as though it had lost some of its colour, and when their eyes met again, Simon wondered if the hope had been drained as well.
"I've got to go."
"I'll see you tomorrow, Harry."
The car door slammed, and soft footsteps raced down the street.
"Where have you been? What time do you call this? Making me shout in the street for you like some kind of hooligan!"
Simon wished he could shut his ears, but instead he started the car, and drove back home, with only one backwards glance at Harry.
"Get inside now!" Aunt Petunia snapped, pinching his ear harder than usual. Harry winced and ran into the house. Curtains twitched behind them, but Petunia paid no heed, not this time.
"So why are you late?" she demanded, once the door had shut fully behind her. "Have you been telling vile lies to that teacher of yours again?"
"No, Aunt Petunia," he whispered, keeping his eyes on the thick carpet beneath his feet.
"You see that you don't, wastrel," she snapped. "Now take off those filthy shoes, and get inside your cupboard until this evening. I don't want to hear a peep from you until I summon you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Aunt Petunia."
The lock on the cupboard clicked shut behind him, but Harry didn't mind. He still had hold of his book, and he was very thankful that Aunt Petunia hadn't decided to search him on a whim. The cupboard lit up gently when he entered, the light perfect for reading, and hours passed before he felt his stomach begin to growl again.
Without warning, the cupboard door swung open, and Harry dived to hide his book from view, but it was too late.
"MUUUUUM!" Dudley screeched. "Muuum! Harry's got something!"
Aunt Petunia appeared behind Dudley as if she could be called instantly to his side by saying her name. She reached into the cupboard and snatched the book from Harry's tight grip.
"A book," she said softly, turning it over in her hands. Then she turned to him. "Our provisions aren't good enough for you boy, so you've taken to stealing things to occupy your time. Do you think you're better than us, boy, with your literature?"
Harry closed his eyes. This could not be happening. He opened his eyes. Uncle Vernon was standing behind Aunt Petunia now. This had to be some kind of bad dream.
"Answer me, boy!"
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He had no idea what he could possibly say that would ensure the safety of the book his aunt held in her hands. It had been lent to him kindly by Janie, and now he'd never be allowed another library book again.
A sharp slap was delivered across the side of his face, and Harry jumped with the shock of it.
"Answer your aunt, boy!" Uncle Vernon barked.
Tear began to prick the back of his eyes, and his throat was burning. "Please, I just want my book back."
"YOUR book?" Vernon snarled. "This looks like property of the library to me, boy, stolen property at that! We can't be having that. Petunia, my love, deal with this." The book was thrust into her hands, and she disappeared into the kitchen with it. "Now you, get upstairs. Now."
Another sharp slap was delivered when the first of his tears dared to fall from his eyes ("Crying is for the weak!"), and Harry ran upstairs into Dudley's second bedroom, where he broke down and cried before his uncle got there.
The next morning, when Harry slipped out through the backdoor on his way to school, he stopped in front of a small pile of ashes on the first step. He bent down to examine it, and sure enough, it looked like the remnants of the book he had been given yesterday. He bit back a cry of anguish, and ran all the way to school, tears burning the back of his eyes all the way.