Phsaw, like hell do I right well enough that I could actually own Harry Potter.
Edited 07/07/17
Chapter 9: The Letter
A day later and they were back. Janelle watched bemused, crouched over her flowerbed, gloves on her hands and a small shovel in one. The Dursley's looked dead tired, if generally alright as they climbed out of their car.
Between yesterday morning and now, sometime late in the afternoon where the sky was turning orange and everything was glowing yellow, every single owl that had been perched on the block, vanished. They were gone, just like that. Took off and flock in a mighty flock to Lord knows where.
Not even a single dollop of owl poop could be found as evidence of their presence. Janelle raised a hand to scratch her head, paused, and reconsidered it as she eyed the dirty gloves covering her hands, before watching with barely concealed mirth as Harry all but stumbled across the grass of the Dursley's front lawn, over the small hedge separating the two lawns, and then on to her own. He just barely kept himself from tripping over his feet.
He wore his pyjamas: a well-cared for old shirt of hers that was just a little too big on him, and a pair of thick, warm pants that she'd bought for him recently. He'd grown out of the last pair, and Mrs. Dursley was such an ogre that she actually refused Janelle's 'charity' and only let her buy the one, and only when he absolutely needed it. Apparently, he was all set and good that he – or they, as it had been implied – didn't need the help, so her 'donations' were refused.
"You seem excited," Janelle said, lip twitching as she finally stood up.
Harry wasted no time. "Do you have my mail?"
Janelle blinked. "What mail?"
Harry looked absolutely heartbroken, before his eyes narrowed suspiciously at her. "Wait a minute…"
Janelle laughed, pulling off her gloves so she could run a hand through his hair. Was it weird of her to feel like a mother at the age of twenty-one? Oh jeez, Harry was making her old. He grumbled, trying, and failing to swat her hand away. "Yeah, you're right, I've got your mail. It's inside, c'mon, let's go."
She picked up her tools, cast her flowerbed a forlorn look, before deciding that she could do them another day. They were just flowers, the worst that could happen was her mother calling her up on the line demanding why she was ruining her rose bush.
"So how'd you know I got your mail?" Janelle asked the excited boy, placing her tools beside the door and walking into the kitchen, looking into her fridge to whip something up for him. Pancakes maybe? She moved the veggies around, looking for the punnet of strawberries she'd bought early that week. She let out a little cheer and placed it on the counter. You couldn't have pancakes without strawberries, it just wasn't right.
"I saw one of the owls slip one into your door as we passed. Barely, but I saw it! So you do have it, right?"
"That reminds me, what did you guys even do yesterday?" Janelle questioned, taking out eggs, milk and butter. "One second I'm drinking tea and the next you're all on a road trip in your pyjamas to the other side of the country."
Harry made a face. "All I wanted was the mail, but Mr. Dursley got angry. He said that he had someone waiting for him with a boat, but when we got there, there was nothing." Harry shrugged, and cleaned his glasses. There was a new piece of tape holding the bridge together. Janelle's lips pursed. She'd have to take him out to get it repaired – again.
"So then you guys came back here huh?" Janelle pulled out some flour and bowl onto the counter and went looking for her wooden spoon. "That man – paranoid for reasons I can't comprehend. You'd think it was like he'd been given the death sentence or something." she was still grumbling about the idiocy of Mr. Dursley as she whisked the batter, absentmindedly putting a pan on to the stove and heating it up.
Harry made a noise of agreement, before sitting up straighter. "So… where is it?"
Janelle rolled her eyes. This boy... he'd be the death of her, she just knew it. "In the drawer, you know where. Which reminds me," she cupped his face in her hands suddenly, squishing in reddening cheeks and muffling his words of surprise. "Living room corner, under the pile of blankets: your presents, Happy Birthday Harry."
He grinned bashfully, trying to duck his head down, and surged forward and out of her hands to give her a tight – very tight – and warm hug. And then in a flash he practically phased through the wall into the living room. Janelle shook her head, a smile creeping up onto her lips as the smell of pancakes started to waft.
A crash, yelp and a few drawers opening and closing later Harry walked back into the kitchen slowly, his eyes captivated by the torn envelope and letter in his hands, the present she'd gotten and wrapped for him in cheesy Happy Birthday wrapping tucked securely underneath his arm.
He was so busy reading he didn't even seem to realise that he'd miss his chance at flipping the pancakes like he loved to do. When he'd been little, like seven or eight was it? Janelle had made him pancakes for him for the first time. Never mind the fact that it had been late in the night, the Dursley's were away for some sort of small family vacation, and that the only spread that had been in the house was butter, Harry had been amazed when she'd flipped the pancakes perfectly. So now every time she made them, she'd let him do it himself.
Janelle wondered what exactly was in the letter that could make Harry miss something that for unexplained reasons always made him extremely happy.
She hummed with ill-hidden curiosity and not an ounce of shame as she moved to read the letter over his shoulder.
Her brows flew up as she caught the first line. "What...?"
