Chapter 7 – Digging Up Bones
By the time Harry and Ron were tired of tossing the quaffle around and chasing the golden snitch, it was almost time for lunch. They marched off the quidditch pitch, broomsticks on their shoulders and covered in sweat from head to toe. As they left the stadium, they met up with the Dursleys just outside. Aunt Petunia looked pale with fright, as she shook her head accusingly at the boys. But Uncle Vernon's eyes were glowing, and he was grinning from ear to ear.
"This — quidditch? — do you call it? It's a really exciting sport!" he said breathlessly. "My heart is still pounding! You were really good, Harry!"
"Thanks, Uncle!" he said bashfully. He didn't know exactly what to feel. His uncle had never before complimented him on anything. This was strange.
Finally, Aunt Petunia found her voice. "You boys alright? You scared me half out of my wits! I thought you were going to kill yourselves out there! The both of you!"
"We're alright!" said Harry, as he brushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes. "Just a little tired, that's all. Don't worry, Aunt Petunia. We know what we're doing." She rolled her eyes like any over-protective parent might. "So what did you think, Dudley?"
"I wish I could fly like that!" he said, excitedly. He was looking at Harry with deepest admiration. His mother gave him a severe look as if to say, "Don't even think about it."
"You'll be taking flying lessons with Madam Hooch, soon enough," Harry told him. And seeing his aunt's disapproval, he added, "She's a really good teacher!"
Ron wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "We need to clean up before lunch."
"You sure do!" said Petunia, as she looked them both over critically from head to toe. "Now off to the showers, both of you!"
Harry and Ron ran off to take a bath while the Dursleys, talking among themselves about the practice, headed to the Great Hall for lunch. As they entered the castle, they met Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall coming down the marble staircase in the entrance hall. Dumbledore was smiling.
"Did you enjoy watching the boys toss the ball around?" he asked.
"I've never seen anything like it!" said Vernon. "Incredible! And Harry is really talented! I had no idea!"
Dumbledore was beaming now. "Yes, we're quite proud of him. He was flying like that even before his first lesson. Natural on a broomstick, that boy!"
Petunia was grumbling to herself about men and how they idolize sports. But years had taught her nothing was going to change their minds.
"It looks really dangerous," she commented. "Do they ever get hurt?"
Dumbledore recognized the symptoms right away. "Well, quidditch can be a rough sport," he said. "Sometimes there are injuries, of course. But never anything life threatening. Harry broke his arm earlier this year and Madam Pomfrey fixed him right up."
Petunia covered her mouth with her hand. "He never told us that," she said, looking shocked.
"Perhaps he thought you wouldn't care," said Dumbledore. Petunia blushed and bowed her head in shame. "I'm so terribly sorry!" he apologized quickly. "I didn't mean to be so blunt. It's just that your relationship with Harry has never been quite — well — amiable, until now."
"I understand, Professor," she said. "It's true we've never really been a part of Harry's life. But I hope to change all that."
Dumbledore smiled and gave her an approving look. "Shall we go to lunch, then?" he suggested, gesturing towards the Great Hall.
The soup and sandwiches served for lunch were delicious, and everyone enjoyed the meal immensely. Ron and Harry came in fifteen minutes late — their hair still wet from the showers. Quidditch practice had made them both really hungry, and they ate enough for two. Finally, when the meal was over, and the remainder of the food had vanished, Dumbledore stood up and addressed everyone.
"This afternoon, Professor McGonagall and I are going to show you around the castle. You'll want to pay especially close attention, Dudley, as you'll be living here a good portion of the year. We've also arranged for you to meet some of your teachers. They'll be giving you a few tasks to perform — just to see what you can do." Dudley looked nervous. "It's not a test, Dudley, so there's no need to worry. And since the Dursleys will be conferring with Dudley's teachers, I'd rather like to keep things in the family, as it were. So, Ron and Hermione — if you two could find something else to occupy yourselves this afternoon, I'd really appreciate it." They nodded. Dumbledore looked thoughtful and clapped his hands together. "Well, we have to start someplace — so why not at the top!"
They left the Great Hall to begin their tour of the castle. Dumbledore led them up stairway after stairway, lined with moving and talking pictures of former Hogwarts teachers and alumni, until they finally arrived at the very top of the Astronomy tower. Uncle Vernon and Dudley were both winded. But the view was incredible!
"This is the highest point on the castle," said Dumbledore. "Here, the students study the night sky and learn the names of the stars and planets and their movements. Of all the classes we teach here at Hogwarts, Astronomy is the one closest to what you might find in the non-magical world." He paused and stared thoughtfully off into the distance.
"You can see for miles up here," said Petunia, awed by the beauty.
"Yes," he said. "I wanted to show you the view. From here you can see all of Hogwarts and most of Hogsmeade. I come up here, sometimes, just to sit and think." Dumbledore turned to Dudley and looked at him very seriously. "Students aren't allowed up here, Dudley, except with a staff member. Do you understand?"
"I understand, Professor."
"Good!" he said, as he turned back to the group. "Well, that's about all there is to see up here — at least in the daytime. If you would all follow me, please."
He led them back down several flights of stairs and into an adjacent tower. They stepped into a round room that had many large, open windows with no glass. The ceiling was very high, and there were many perches near the top. The floor was littered with small animal bones and owl droppings. Petunia had never seen any place this filthy. She looked as though she might faint. Vernon had a look of disgust on his pudgy, red face, too.
"This is the owlery," said Dumbledore. "Watch your step, now. It's a bit messy up here. As you can imagine, we do send a lot of letters. And our student's owls use the owlery, as well."
Harry spotted Hedwig, perched near the top. "Hedwig!" he called. She flew down and perched on his extended arm. He gave her soft, reassuring strokes on the top of her head, and she closed her eyes in pleasure.
Dudley's eyes, however, were wide open with fear as he turned to Harry. "I just realized! I don't know where Lily is? I don't remember seeing her before we went to bed last night."
"Ah! — that would be my fault," admitted Dumbledore. "I told Filch to let both your owls out to hunt when he brought your things up last evening. Don't worry, Dudley. Owls rarely get lost. She'll always come back to you."
"Why don't you call her," suggested Harry.
Dudley looked skeptical. "Lily!" he called. He couldn't see her because she was perched behind a group of Tawneys. But as soon as she heard her name, she flew down to Dudley and perched on his outstretched arm. Dudley imitated the way Harry was stroking Hedwig. Lily closed her eyes and rubbed the side of her face against his cheek.
"That owl adores you, Mr. Dursley!" said McGonagall, smiling. "I've never seen one express affection in quite that way."
The tender owl moment was broken by Uncle Vernon's gruff voice. "I just don't get this whole owl post thing! Why would you want to use owls when you've got a perfectly good postal service?"
Dumbledore glared at him over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Let me ask you something, Mr. Dursley. How long would it take to send a letter from Surrey to London?"
Vernon scrunched up his pudgy face in thought. "About a day and a half," he estimated.
"And how long would it take to get a reply to your letter?"
"The same," he said.
"So, the round trip time would be three days — plus however long it took the recipient to respond," Dumbledore concluded.
"About that," he said.
"Well, Mr. Dursley. An owl would make the trip from Surrey to London in only one hour. Assuming it took the person half an hour to respond to your correspondence, the total round trip time with owl post would be about two and a half hours. Can the postal service match that?"
Vernon shifted nervously and looked defeated. "No!" he admitted reluctantly.
Dumbledore went on. "And if your sister was on vacation in Spain, and you didn't know her location, could you send her a letter?"
"Of course not!" spat Vernon sharply. "You have to have the bloody address to send a letter. Everybody knows that!"
"Not with owl post, Mr. Dursley," said Dumbledore quietly. Vernon looked at him in disbelief. "You just tell your owl who the letter is for and it will find them — wherever they are." Vernon opened his mouth but no words came out. "You see, Mr. Dursley, owl post is a lot more efficient than the regular post. And as an added bonus, the service is free. You just need to provide your owl with a little water and time to hunt for food."
"Could I ask a question," said Dudley, interrupting the lesson.
"Of course, Mr. Dursley!" said Dumbledore, who was glad for the change of subject.
"This castle is huge! How do you keep from getting lost?"
Dumbledore laughed. "Well, Dudley, sometimes I do get lost. I've been here close to fifty years, and there are still some places in this castle I've never been."
About that time, an owl swooped in through one of the open windows and dropped a letter on Dumbledore's head. He bent over and picked it up. "They just seem to find me no matter where I am," he said, opening the letter and beginning to read. His face became serious. "I must take care of this immediately! Professor McGonagall, would you kindly take charge of the tour?"
"Of course, Professor!" she said.
"I think Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions would be in order," he suggested. "You can all meet me in my office when the tour is over." Then he turned and left ahead of them to attend to other matters.
"Alright, everyone! Let's go back down to the third floor," said McGonagall. "Please follow me!"
They descended several staircases and followed several long hallways that branched off in unexpected places. Finally, they reached their destination.
"This is the Charms corridor," she said. "Most of these classrooms are unused since we only have one Charms teacher at the moment, Professor Flitwick. I've already informed him that we'll be stopping by." She led them down the corridor to the third classroom on the right and knocked at the door.
"Come in! Yes, please! Come in!" said Professor Flitwick.
The Dursleys looked around but didn't see anyone — not at first. Then Petunia spotted tiny Professor Flitwick, standing on a stack of books, the top of his head barely visible behind his desk. Her jaw dropped, and Flitwick noticed.
"Yes, I know. I get that all the time," he said.
"I'm so sorry, Professor," Petunia apologized sincerely.
"It's quite alright," he replied. "It should be a good lesson. Never judge a wizard by his size."
Flitwick greeted Vernon. Then he noticed Dudley. "Ah! And this must be young Mr. Dursley!" he said, stepping down off his pile of books to greet Dudley.
McGonagall cleared her throat. "Just so you know, Professor, this will be his very first time using a wand."
Flitwick's face broke into a broad smile. "How exciting, Mr. Dursley! How exciting, indeed! So, do you have your wand with you?"
"Yes sir," said Dudley, pulling his wand out of his pocket and looking sheepish.
"Good, then. Let's see what you can do. One of a wizard's most basic skills is the ability to make things fly. I'm going to try and teach you the levitation charm. Now, hold your wand like this — then, swish and flick." Professor Flitwick showed Dudley the wand movements, and Dudley tried to copy them. "That's it, Mr. Dursley! That nice wrist movement is very important. Very good! Now, for the incantation. Listen carefully! 'Wingardium Leviosa!' With a nice long 'o'. You try it — without your wand first, please."
"Wingardium Leviosa!" said a somewhat embarrassed Dudley, feeling very self conscious. He practiced the incantation several more times.
Flitwick seemed delighted. "Very good, Mr. Dursley. Very good. Now, I want you to swish and flick your wand at that feather on the desk. While you're making the wand movement, say the incantation. As soon as your wand is pointing at the feather, see it float in your mind. Feel it. Have you ever flown a kite, Mr. Dursley?"
"Yes sir," said Dudley, looking a little confused. What did kites have to do with magic, he thought.
"Can you remember what the string in your hand felt like as the kite was being pulled by the wind? That connection your hand had to the kite through the string?"
"I think so," said Dudley.
"That's what I want you to concentrate on, Mr. Dursley — your connection to the feather through your wand. Think of the feather as a kite and your wand as a string. Now, go on! Give it a try."
Professor McGonagall, Dudley's parents, and Harry were all watching in excited anticipation to see Dudley's first attempt at magic. Dudley swished and flicked his wand while saying the incantation, "Wingardium Leviosa." When he brought his wand to bear on the feather, however, it gave only a little wiggle and didn't rise. Dudley's face fell in disappointment.
"That's alright, Mr. Dursley," said Flitwick encouragingly. "Not to worry. It's only your first time doing magic. Give it another try, now."
Dudley swished and flicked again. This time, he said very strongly, "Wingardium Leviosa!" The feather rose into the air!
"Excellent, Mr. Dursley! Excellent!" cheered an excited Flitwick. "Now, remember the kite? Feel the connection between you and the feather!"
"I can feel it!" exclaimed Dudley, amazed.
"Good! Very good! Now, guide it around the room. That's right, Mr. Dursley! Very good! Now, if you will, set it down on the desk."
Dudley's eyes were glued to the feather. He was holding tightly to his wand and concentrating hard on every little move he was making. He brought the feather back to the desk and lowered it.
"How do I break the connection, Professor?" he asked.
"Just a tiny flick."
Dudley did as he was told, and the feather lay still on the desk.
"That was great, Dudley!" said Harry. "It took me six tries before I did it!"
"Really?" said Dudley, a broad smile covering his face. He was almost jumping up and down with excitement.
"His magic seems quite strong," said McGonagall to Dudley's parents. "And he follows directions well."
Petunia walked over to her son and put her hand on his shoulder, beaming. Vernon merely smiled. He was torn between his dislike for magic, which was less now than it had been yesterday, and his desire to be proud of his son.
"Thank you, Professor Flitwick," said McGonagall.
"You're welcome! See you in class, Mr. Dursley!" Dudley smiled as they turned to go.
Everyone headed out the door. Dudley was walking on air! He was so excited to have done something with a wand and done it properly. He had actually made that feather fly! What's more, he had controlled it! Now he knew learning magic was going to be a lot of fun.
"Next stop is transfiguration," announced McGonagall. They walked back down the Charms corridor and descended the stairs to the second floor. After a few twists and turns, they arrived at Professor McGonagall's classroom.
"This is the transfiguration department of which I am head," she said. "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic we teach at Hogwarts. I don't put up with anyone horsing around in my class! If they do, they will not be permitted back again." She turned her full attention on Dudley and looked at him sternly over her glasses. "One other thing, Mr. Dursley. We do not condone human transfiguration at Hogwarts. Anyone caught transfiguring, or attempting to transfigure, a fellow human being will be immediately expelled! Do I make myself clear?"
Dudley looked scared even though he didn't really understand what she just said. "Yes, Professor. I think so," he answered, fidgeting where he stood and avoiding her eyes. McGonagall had that effect on students.
"Ron and I were late to your class on our first day," remembered Harry. "You threatened to turn us into a pocket watch!"
McGonagall rounded on him. "I was just teasing the two of you, Potter. I had no intention of transfiguring anyone. Of course, I could, if I wanted to," she assured him with a slight smile.
"That's preposterous!" said Vernon, looking defiant.
McGonagall glared at him. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Dursley?"
"It's codswallop!" he spat. "I'll admit I've seen a lot of amazing things since I've been here. But turning someone into an inanimate object? That's ridiculous!"
McGonagall looked dangerous. "You think so, do you, Mr. Dursley?"
"I do," he stated unequivocally.
"And you won't believe it until you see it?"
"No, I won't" he said flatly.
McGonagall gave a sigh and looked at him like she was about to give him detention. "Magic isn't a toy to play with or be used as amusement, Mr. Dursley. It's serious business. I want the two of you to understand that. But since you won't believe me until you see it — well — alright. But just this once. Mr. Potter, would you mind assisting me in a little demonstration?"
Harry wasn't sure he liked the idea of being turned into an object of some sort. His eyes grew wide with fear. "Me, Professor?"
"Yes, you. Now — what would you like me to turn you into? A desk? A chair? A pocket watch?"
Harry's jaw dropped. He was staring at McGonagall incredulously. "You're serious, Professor?"
"Quite serious, Mr. Potter."
He looked at his aunt and uncle who were staring at him in disbelief. He didn't want to back down in front of them. And then there was Dudley.
"It's not going to hurt or anything, is it? I mean — you can change me back and all?"
McGonagall looked wounded. "You can't possibly believe I'd transfigure you if I couldn't undo it? And no, of course, it won't hurt. In fact, you won't feel a thing."
Harry suddenly remembered who he was dealing with and the respect he had for her. He found he wasn't afraid anymore. "Well — alright, Professor. A pocket watch, I guess," he said.
The Dursley's eyes were riveted on McGonagall. She raised her wand and pointed it at Harry. Then she did a non-verbal incantation. A golden spray of energy came from the tip of her wand and encompassed his entire form. He shrank to a watch on the floor. The Dursley's were dumbstruck! Their eyes were as big as galleons! McGonagall calmly leaned over and picked up the watch.
"This is Harry!" she said as she handed the watch to Dudley, who took it like it was a bomb about to explode.
"It's not — I don't — I can't — believe it!" stammered Vernon breathlessly. Petunia's eyes were wide with horror.
"Magic is very powerful, Mr. Dursley. And in the wrong hands it can be disastrous. That's why we teach our students to be responsible."
"H-how long will H-Harry stay a watch?" stuttered Dudley.
"Until someone changes him back," said McGonagall. "Oh, don't worry! He can't feel a thing. And time doesn't pass for him in this form — no pun intended. He could remain a watch for a hundred years. And then when someone changed him back into human form he wouldn't remember a thing. To him it would be as if no time has passed."
"What would happen to Harry if you broke the watch?" asked Petunia timidly.
"Well," said McGonagall. "If the damage was minor, then Harry would be damaged in some way when he was changed back. But if the damage was major, or the watch was destroyed, well, Harry would be gone."
"You mean dead?" said Vernon in horror.
"Yes, Mr. Dursley. So, as you can see, transfiguration is a dangerous branch of magic — not only because it can be abused, but also because it is easy for the beginner to transfigure something in such a way that it cannot be undone. I'm not trying to scare you. I just want you to take magic very seriously."
"We do," said Petunia. "Now, can you please bring Harry back?"
"Oh, yes! Of course!" said McGonagall, who took the watch from Dudley, placed it on the floor, and turned it back into Harry.
"I'm ready any time you are, Professor!" he said. Everyone looked at him stunned. "What?" he asked, annoyed.
"Professor McGonagall just changed you back," said Dudley. "You've been a pocket watch for the past five minutes!" Harry looked shocked and felt his stomach to make sure he was really there.
"None of you will be doing that kind of magic for a very long time," said McGonagall, looking extremely serious. "It's highly advanced. You have to start off small and work your way up. The first thing you'll learn is how to change a match into a needle. Are you ready to give it a try, Dudley?"
Dudley gave her an uncertain smile. She showed him to a desk, gave him a match, and taught him the incantation. He tried four times with no results. Then on the fifth try, the match became silvery and pointed at one end. And it had an obvious eye. Dudley was happy just to have made any change in it at all.
"Very good, Mr. Dursley! It certainly looks like you have a talent for wand work. Most students from magical homes can't make any change to the match on their first day of class. You should be very proud. And I don't think you'd have any problem catching up — if you want to put in the extra work."
Dudley looked apprehensive. Work was a bad word in his vocabulary. "Do I have to?" he asked.
"No, not if you don't want to," said McGonagall, who looked at him appraisingly. "You could go through school with the same group of students you came in with. But then you'd graduate two years after Harry. Think about it. You don't have to decide right away."
"Thanks, Professor," said Dudley with a slight smile.
"Now, before we go on to our next stop, I'd like a word with Mrs. Dursley — if you gentleman wouldn't mind."
Professor McGonagall took Petunia off to one corner while Harry, Dudley, and Vernon talked among themselves.
"We have a rather delicate situation, Petunia," she began. "Do you remember a boy who used to hang around Lily when you lived near Spinner's End?"
"That Snape boy?" asked Petunia. "What's he got to do with anything?"
"Well, he's our potions master," said McGonagall. "Harry's father, James, and Severus loathed each other when they were students at Hogwarts. As you may know, Severus was in love with your sister. But when Lily chose James over Severus — well, I don't think he ever got over it."
Petunia shifted nervously. "So, what's the problem?" she asked.
McGonagall cleared her throat. "Harry and Professor Snape don't exactly — well — like each other. Harry reminds him too much of James, I think. Harry knows that Severus hated his father. What he doesn't know is that Severus was in love with his mother. To be quite honest, Petunia, now is not the time for him to find out. It would hurt him to know that his mother and Professor Snape were ever a couple. I've talked to Severus and we feel it would be best if the two of you don't let on that you know each other — at least not in front of Harry."
"I see your point," said Petunia. "And I quite agree. The last thing I want to do is hurt him any more than I've already done."
Petunia and Professor McGonagall rejoined the others.
"What's going on?" asked Vernon.
"Nothing," said McGonagall. "Just some girl talk. We'll visit the potions department next. Professor Snape's classroom is down in the dungeons." The Dursleys looked at each other with eyes wide. "It's just a classroom!" she assured them.
After going down several flights of stairs and through several gloomy stone corridors, they arrived at a large heavy door leading into a bleak-looking chamber. Professor Snape was seated behind his desk at the front, his greasy black hair hanging in curtains around his gaunt face. He stood up as they entered. There was a tense moment when his eyes met Petunia's, but they didn't let their gaze linger overly long to avoid alerting Harry that they knew each other.
"This is Professor Snape," said McGonagall. "He's our potions teacher. Professor, these are the Dursleys. And this is young Dudley who will be in your class this term."
Looking straight at Dudley, Snape gathered his black robes more tightly about him and walked forward slowly. His cold black eyes stared, unblinking, as he examined Dudley over his long, pointed nose. "Good afternoon," he said without expression as he bowed slightly, never letting his eyes drift from Dudley's. "Professor McGonagall says I am to give you a go at potions. See what you can do. How well you follow instructions."
"Yes sir," said Dudley, who was looking at Snape in fear. Harry thought that, as a bully, Dudley had finally met his match.
"Well, take a seat over there," Snape demanded, pointing at a table near the front of the classroom. "You'll find a set of scales, some potion ingredients, clearly labeled, and the instructions are on the board." He flicked his wand and the instructions appeared. "Don't worry if you don't get it right. This is not a test. We just want to see what you can do on your own."
Dudley moved quickly to the table, sat down, and started sifting through the bottles and bags of ingredients. Harry and the adults sat in desks near the back of the classroom so they could observe without being too much in Dudley's way.
Time seemed to drag by. After an hour, Dudley announced that he was finished. Snape took a look at the concoction he had created. "Not bad for a first try," he said. "Have you ever done anything like this before?"
"No sir!" said Dudley. He wasn't sure whether to be happy or not. Snape didn't seem impressed.
"Well, you follow instructions quite well — better than Mr. Potter, here." McGonagall glared daggers at Snape. "I'd be happy to have you in my first year potions class. You can't do any worse than the usual lot I get. From what I've seen, I expect you'll do quite a bit better."
"Well, thank you, Professor Snape," said McGonagall as she hurried them out of the dungeon. "I'm sorry, everyone. Professor Snape isn't the easiest person to get along with."
"You can say that again," said Harry sarcastically.
"Mr. Potter!"
"Sorry, Professor, but it's true."
"Well, I guess we'll end the tour here," said McGonagall. "There's a lot more I could show you, but it would take months to see the entire castle." She looked over her spectacles at Dudley. "One more thing, Mr. Dursley. You can go anywhere you want in the castle during the daytime. But it is strictly forbidden to wander around at night — if you don't want to get detention. Just keep that in mind!" Dudley nodded. "Well then. Let's go to the headmaster's office, shall we? He'll be expecting us."
They followed a few more hallways and climbed a few more stairs until they came to a gargoyle standing sentry in the middle of a long corridor. She held up her hands in front of her, fingertips pointed at the gargoyle, and stated, "Chocolate Frog." Immediately, the gargoyle sprang aside revealing an upwardly moving spiral stairway. One by one, they stepped onto the stairs and were carried upward until they found themselves standing on a landing outside a large and heavy ornate door. Professor McGonagall knocked.
"Please, come in everyone," said a deep, pleasant voice from the other side. McGonagall opened the door, and they all stepped into a large, circular room. If the Great Hall was impressive, it was nothing to Dumbledore's office! Bookshelves lined the walls and small tables, adorned with various strange looking silver instruments, were scattered here and there. The dark wood paneling and heavy velvet drapes gave a feeling of opulence to the entire space, which was well ordered, yet comfortable. Looking around the room, it was difficult not to be impressed with its occupant. Dumbledore sat behind a large, antique oak desk, intricately carved with lions and trees — the quill in his hand poised expertly over a half-written piece of parchment. He looked like the master of all he surveyed.
"Ah!" said Dumbledore. "Please, come in everyone. And please take a chair!" He waved his wand, and five comfortable armchairs appeared from thin air around his desk. The three Dursleys, Harry, and Professor McGonagall all sat down facing him.
"Harry wrote to me about your ability to see magical traces, Petunia. We're going to try to discover what gives you that ability and whether it's something you might be able to put to good use."
"Thank you, Professor," she said. "I never knew I had any special abilities until we went to buy Dudley's school things."
Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "It's highly irregular for a non-magical person to have any kind of magical ability at all. Of course, magical heredity isn't always cut and dry. Would you like me to explain how we think it works?"
"Yes, please," she said.
Dumbledore straightened his glasses and cleared his throat. "Well, we know that when at least one parent is a witch or wizard, the offspring will be magical — with very few exceptions. Only about one in ten thousand children born to magical parents is a squib. We also know that non-magical parents sometimes have magical children. We believe this is because a witch, wizard, or squib existed in one or both of their family lines at some time in the past. Finally, we know that children born to non-magical parents either have magic or they don't. That's what makes your case so rare and so interesting, Petunia. The Hogwarts founders were involved in research related to magical heredity. And they had a special tool for doing their investigations."
Dumbledore stood up and retrieved the Sorting Hat from its shelf behind his desk. Then he seated himself again and placed the hat in full view of everyone.
"The Sorting Hat Dudley tried on last night belonged to Godric Gryffindor. Each of the founders valued different traits in their students. That's how the four houses began. They wanted their house traditions to continue after they were gone. So Gryffindor donated his hat, and they all put some brains into it so that it could be used to sort the students into houses when the founders were no longer here to carry on the tradition."
"You're telling us that hat is over a thousand years old?" said Vernon in disbelief.
"Yes, Mr. Dursley. And it's probably the most magical object we have at Hogwarts. The founders created it not only to sort students, but also as a tool to assist their research into magical heredity. I have been discussing your situation with the hat, Petunia, and it thinks it may be able to discover why you have the abilities you do."
"You discussed it with the hat?" said Vernon incredulously.
"Yes, Mr. Dursley, I did."
The Dursleys jumped when the Sorting Hat spoke. "I have the ability to see the traces of magical heredity. I might be able to determine where your unusual abilities come from, Petunia. I would also like to look inside your husband's head, too, since you both produced a magical child. One more thing — while I'm working, please don't interrupt. I need to concentrate. So, are you ready, Headmaster?"
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "If you would, kindly place the Sorting Hat on your head, Petunia."
She picked up the hat and put it on.
"Just think your answers. Don't speak aloud. Can you hear me?"
"Yes!"
"Good. I'm going to examine your mind and your physical makeup. It may take a while, so please be patient."
"Will it hurt?"
"You won't feel a thing."
They sat in silence for about fifteen minutes while the Sorting Hat looked into Petunia's mind. Finally, it spoke again.
"You can remove me now," it said. Dumbledore removed the hat and placed it in the middle of his desk. "I have been looking into the heads of people for over a thousand years and have never come across this situation before. Magic is usually present or it isn't — especially among those born to non-magical parents. When a magical child is born, their magic is dormant. Sometime before they reach age seven, their magic begins to assert itself. The awakening process is gradual and can take anywhere from a month to a couple of years. In your case, Petunia, it apparently started and then was quickly halted before it progressed far enough for you to perform any accidental magic. So, the fact that you were born a witch was never detected. Some of your magical ability is active. But most of it is still dormant. That's why you can see magical barriers. It may be possible for you to perform some rudimentary magic with practice. But I am afraid you may never have the abilities of a normal witch."
"Thank you," said Dumbledore as he reached for the hat.
"May I examine Mr. Dursley now?" the hat insisted.
Vernon stiffened in his chair and looked at Dumbledore. "You mean you want me to put that bloody thing on?"
"It won't hurt, Vernon," said Petunia, glaring at him.
He stared back at her. Finally he relented. "Well, alright, then!" he grumbled. Dumbledore handed him the Sorting Hat and he reluctantly placed it on his head. The hat spoke into Vernon's mind.
"Don't speak aloud, just think your answers. Can you hear me?"
"Yes, I can!"
"Good! I wanted to read you, Mr. Dursley, because I know things are changing very quickly for you, and I thought I might be able to help."
"What makes you think I need your help?" he thought.
"You are on the verge of losing everything you value, Mr. Dursley. Your wife has seen the error of her ways and will no longer persecute Harry the way she did before. Your son has made friends with him and has already begun to see how unfair you have been to your nephew."
"I don't see what business that is of yours," he thought.
"I am concerned about Harry, Petunia, and Dudley," said the Sorting Hat. "They need you. But they are beginning to see you in a different light, Mr. Dursley, and it is not a very flattering one. Your prejudice and bigotry and your intolerance of anything that is different are going to drive them all out of your life, if you do not change."
Vernon's mind grasped at straws, trying desperately to find something he could say to refute what he knew to be true. But he could find no response to the truth the hat had spoken. So he pretended.
"I'm the same person I've always been," he thought.
"That is not true," said the Sorting Hat. "You can hide from yourself, Mr. Dursley, but you cannot hide from me. I can see deeper into your mind than you can. And I can access memories you have long forgotten. I see it all so very clearly. It's all here in your head. You must remember, too."
Vernon's eyes began to tear as the Sorting Hat forced him to remember long forgotten events and feelings. He fought desperately to hide his emotions but knew he was losing the battle.
"Do they know?" asked the hat.
"No," he thought, and closed his eyes. "I never told them."
"You have abandoned yourself and you must find yourself again."
"I don't know how!" he thought. He was no longer fighting the truth.
"You must tell them — tell them what happened."
"It's so hard," he thought.
"You must be honest with them."
"I'll try," he thought again.
"You must — otherwise you will lose everything."
In a few minutes, the Sorting Hat spoke again to everyone. "You can take me off now!"
Vernon removed the hat from his head and placed it back on the desk. He sat very still and quiet.
"What's wrong, Vernon?" asked Petunia. "Why are you so pale?"
"It's nothing," he said. "Don't worry about it."
"What did the hat tell you," she insisted.
Vernon looked pained. "It said I must tell you the truth," he replied.
"What truth?" she asked, looking confused.
"There are things you don't know, Petunia," he began. "Things none of you know. I will tell you — but you have to hear me out."
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Would you like Professor McGonagall and me to give you some privacy?"
"No," said Vernon. "If I don't do this now, I won't have the courage to do it later. And I want you to know the truth too, Professor."
"Very well," said Dumbledore, leaning back in his chair and placing his fingertips together. "But if there's any way I can help, please ask."
Vernon shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he looked from one person to the other. They were all staring at him in anticipation. He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand and ran his fingers through his graying hair. He looked lost and pathetic. The internal struggle he was having with himself was painful for the others to watch. Finally, he placed his hands, palms down, on each knee to steady his nerves and began the story.
"I was born at the end of the 1950's. By the time I was thirteen, the world was changing fast. I didn't want to be like my parents. I wanted to be free. I wanted to see everything, do everything, experience everything. Like the other young people my age, I was a rebel. I wore long hair and dressed like a hippie!"
"You?" asked Harry. "A hippie?"
Everyone's mouth was hanging open. "Yes — I was a thirteen year old hippie. It may be hard to imagine, but I was as liberal as liberal can be. I embraced everyone and everything that was new and different. I had lot's of friends, too, just like me. But not like me father. He was an authoritarian from the old school. He was conservative, narrow-minded, bigoted, prejudiced against everything that was not from his world. And I was not from his world. To my father, I was a freak — and so were my friends. And he couldn't stand to have a freak in the family. This was the early 1970's, remember. So he gave me a choice — straighten up and be the son he wanted or find another place to live."
They all gasped in shock.
"Surely he wasn't serious?" said Petunia. "He wouldn't have thrown you out — not at thirteen!"
"Yes, he would have done, Petunia. My father was a cold, cruel man. But I loved him. I didn't want to lose my home or my father. So I became what he wanted me to be. I turned my back on my friends and pretended to be as narrow-minded and conservative as he was. I thought I could secretly keep my own feelings and live a lie. But as time went on, I began to think and feel the same way he did until it became a part of me. All this happened before I met you, Petunia. You never knew the carefree person I was in my youth — the person I was born to be. The person I became to please my father, the person I am now, is a lie I manufactured to keep my father's love and approval. But it's not who I started out to be."
Dumbledore looked profoundly sad. He had known many unkind fathers in his time at Hogwarts, but this was heart wrenching. Harry and Dudley were looking at Vernon like they had never seen him before. And Petunia had reached over and placed her hand on his arm in a gesture of support and understanding.
Vernon continued. "Then, a decade later, when my father passed away, I learned the truth. I had very few memories of my early childhood, and those I did have were so painful I repressed them — buried them deep so I wouldn't have to feel the pain. I always accepted my parents as my own. But they were not. My real mother gave me away when I was five."
Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her cry. "She gave you away?"
"Yes," he said. "She left me with the people who raised me and never returned. She gave them a letter they were supposed to give to me when I came of age. But my father, being the cruel man he was, never let me see it. Then, after he died, I found the letter among his things. It explained why she abandoned me. But instead of freeing me from the lie I had been living, it only made me more bitter and more determined to hate everything that was not normal. It's ironic, I think, because I was a victim of the same kind of prejudice that I am guilty of. You see, my real parents gave me away because, to them, I was not normal. I was a freak. I was a squib!"
Dumbledore stood up and rushed over to Petunia's chair to steady her. Harry and Dudley were speechless. McGonagall had tears in her eyes. Petunia looked at her husband sadly. "A squib?"
"Yes, Petunia, I can see the door to the Leaky Cauldron too. I only pretended I couldn't. Now you know why I've always hated witches and wizards so much. I hated them for what my birth parents did to me. I hated them because, just like you, I was denied what I thought should have been my heritage."
Dumbledore gently placed a hand on Vernon's shoulder to comfort him. Vernon looked up sadly into those amazing blue eyes that seemed to look right through you.
"Everything that happened to me should have taught me how wrong it is to be prejudiced. It should have made me more compassionate towards people who don't fit into what is considered normal. Instead, it did the opposite. I lashed out at the people who treated me like a freak by being just like them. I was wrong." He looked over at Dudley with a hurt look on his face. "And what's worse, Dudley, I tried to make you just like me when I taught you to hate Harry. Now I see how wrong that was. I am sorry for everything I have done to all of you."
When Vernon stopped talking, everyone took a little time to comprehend everything he had said. The silence seemed to stretch on forever. Then Dumbledore spoke.
"I hope this teaches us all a lesson. Never judge a book by its cover. I would never have guessed the reasons for your behavior, Mr. Dursley. It was far easier to simply blame you for being so intolerant. Now, we all understand what caused that attitude and why you did what you did."
"Uncle Vernon," said Harry carefully. "I understand. I really do. I just hope things will be better from now on."
"Well, Harry," said Vernon. "Your uncle's a squib, your aunt's a less-than-half muggle-born, and you and your cousin are wizards. We have some strange family, don't we? But I promise you, from now on you'll never hear me say another word against the magical world."
Then Vernon did something he had never done before — he hung his head and cried. Petunia went to her husband and put her arms around him lovingly. Dumbledore returned to his own chair and conjured handkerchiefs for all who needed them. He pulled off his spectacles and dried his own eyes. Vernon was sitting shame faced staring at his shoes. Harry and Dudley were silently staring at the floor.
Golden rays of warm afternoon sunlight filtered in through the windows, forming pools of shimmering light on the rug beside Dumbledore's desk. A soft, unearthly note could be heard through the silence of the moment. Fawkes, Professor Dumbledore's phoenix, was perched on a stand beside the door, singing a soft lament that filled them with sadness and warmth. A peace began to grow in each of them. It was phoenix song healing their grief and sorrow.
"Vernon," said Dumbledore. "Vernon, look at me." Slowly Vernon raised his head to look at the wise old wizard. "You have not lost a thing. You have gained everything. Look around you — your family is here supporting you — loving you — forgiving you."
Vernon looked around at each of them. "I can never undo all the harm I've done," he said. "And changing my ways won't be easy. I've been this way too long. I don't think I can do it on my own."
"You're not on your own, Vernon," said Petunia. "You have all of us to help you."
Vernon looked at her and smiled. "Before we came here, I hated everything to do with magic. But since we've been here, I've been curious about everything. I didn't want to admit it, especially to myself, but I've been remembering what it was like when I was young and wanted to experience everything. Now that you and Dudley are a part of the magical world, I think I'd like to be a part of it too. Or at least understand it better."
"If this is true," said Dumbledore, "it opens up some interesting possibilities."
"What do you mean?" asked Vernon.
Dumbledore scratched the top of his head thoughtfully. "As you know, most muggles aren't even aware the magical world exists. And those that are cannot access it. There are magical barriers, muggle repelling charms, and other devices to keep muggles out of magical spaces. But those things don't affect squibs like you. You have the same rights by parentage as any other wizard. That means you're free to visit or live wherever you want in the magical word. You can use the same services as anyone else. You can get the same wizard newspapers and magazines we do. In short, you can do everything a normal wizard can do except perform magic. But keep in mind, Vernon, that you will encounter prejudice — especially from the pure-bloods. Most squibs are encouraged to integrate into the muggle world where they won't be treated like second class citizens. Some witches and wizards think it is kinder. I personally believe it is only an excuse to continue a prejudice that never should have existed in the first place. But many squibs choose to remain in the magical world and face the prejudice rather than lose their heritage."
"So I can be a part of Dudley and Harry's world, if I choose," asked Vernon.
"Yes, you can indeed. But remember that you are bound by the International Statute of Secrecy the same as I am. You are not to discuss your wizard connections or anything about the magical world with muggles."
"So what does that mean for our family?" asked Petunia.
"Well," said Dumbledore, analyzing the situation, "since none of you are technically muggles, you would be considered a wizard family."