Harry spent the next few days as persona non grata in the Dursely household. Their tolerant attitude toward him became distinctly cold and baleful. He had been made to do all the household chores for the week as punishment for the fiasco at the zoo, which was a particular nuisance because it didn't allow him to wait out the hostility in his room. This gave Dudley and Vernon many opportunities to snipe at him with cheap, petty shots.
The odd, derisive comment here, a few sneers there, and the constant leaving of things much dirtier than they needed to be. It had taken Harry damn near forever to scrub the grease and crusted egg off their plates after they left the dirty dishes out during a midnight snack.
The worst was two days after the incident, when it showed up in the paper. Uncle Vernon had worn an expression uncharacteristically lacking in emotion as he read through the articles while Harry cooked up their breakfast. When he'd gone to serve it, his uncle had laid the newspaper out on the table and flipped to the front page.
MASS ESCAPE AT HOBBLEDOWN ZOO REPTILE HOUSE! FOUR BITTEN!
Harry felt warmth and feeling drain from him as he stared blankly at the headline.
"Four. All by venomous species," his uncle said matter of factly. "One of them was twelve. If the paramedics had been too slow they might have died. People were injured in the panic and seven of the animals were trampled."
Harry raised his head and stared blankly into his uncle's emotionless eyes.
"Your parents would be ashamed of you."
Anger and shame exploded inside Harry's chest, warring with each other in a fight for dominance. He knew - knew - beyond a shadow of a doubt that Vernon had only brought up his parents to hurt him. No other reason. And in that moment, he hated the man; hated him down to the marrow of his bones.
Hated the fact that he might be right.
Harry slammed the plate down onto the table and stormed off without a word, throwing the apron aside as he did so. Four bitten. People injured. Animals trampled. He wondered if Martha and Freddie were among them as he recalled Sam's words about the two starting a nest.
He slammed his door shut, the coldness with which his uncle had delivered the words still clutching his organs in it's grip.
'Your parents would be ashamed of you.'
He marched from one wall to the other, the words echoing in his head. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to punch himself.
Four bitten. People injured. Animals trampled.
He stopped dead in his tracks as all the exploding emotions in him drained away to leave a hollow space. He flopped down onto his bed, now utterly spent.
He'd tried to believe that what he'd told the Dursley's was true. That he hadn't meant to let the reptiles escape. That it wasn't his fault. But seeing the headline left him with no doubt that it was his fault. It didn't matter that he hadn't meant to let them loose; he had let them loose and people had been hurt. He had been the cause. If he had just… just…
Just what? Left Sam imprisoned?'
'Thank you.'
He could still hear the sincere gratefulness in the reptile's voice. The happiness.
Harry curled in on himself as uncertainty and guilt struck him. What should he have done? Left Sam there after hearing how miserable he was? Surely that wasn't the right thing to do?
Four bitten. People injured. Animals trampled.
But if rescuing him wasn't the wrong thing to do, why had it turned out so terribly? He had been in trouble before, for things he'd done intentionally, but nothing he'd ever done had nearly killed people.
Oh God.He felt something not unlike sickness settle in his stomach. People could have died because of him.
Harry's thoughts went round and round in a vicious chase inside his skull. He lay there for a long time, agonising over the consequences of his actions versus the consequences of his alternative inaction. Should he really have turned his back and walked away? His head said the answer was a definitive 'yes', but the uneasiness in his gut at the thought told him he didn't quite believe that.
His thoughts formed a chaotic whirlpool, swirling endlessly around a single question; the worst one of them all.
Would his parents be ashamed of him?
When he got off his bed almost two hours later, he still didn't know the answer any better than he knew them.
All he knew was that whatever the right thing to do had been, he hadn't done it.
XXX
Things returned to normal, slowly but surely. Harry's guilt faded, but didn't fully leave him. He'd tried apologising to his relatives, but had been ignored by Uncle Vernon and glared at by Dudley. The only modicum of success he'd had was with Aunt Petunia, who had stared at him for a while before accepting his apology with a hesitant nod.
The school year ended soon after Dudley's birthday and the two report cards that showed up in their post box served to lift Harry's spirits somewhat. He'd once again beaten Dudley by a far margin in all subjects; even if he knew his victory and achievements would go unacknowledged, it was a matter of principle for him. He spared a second to consider the criticisms of his antics and behaviour that came with the compliments of his academic progress, something he'd never done before, then tossed the report card into his bedside drawer where it settled atop a pile of it's dusty brethren.
Summer, believe it or not, came with its disadvantages. These disadvantages were more severe for people not named Harry Potter and were indirectly proportional to their distance from the soon-to-be-eleven-year-old. Without school came boredom, and with boredom came a familiar itch; one that he had been avoiding scratching since freeing Sam.
But with the zoo fiasco quickly fading into an uncomfortable memory, it became irresistible and chaos was delivered in short order. Complaints from neighbours came in every week or so concerning humiliating pranks, offensively positioned garden ornaments and the Potter boy just being a nuisance in general.
Harry's shenanigans increased in frequency the closer it got to his birthday, but when he woke up on 31 July, he found he didn't have the will or desire to do anything. There was no cake waiting for him when he walked into the kitchen, no pile of presents on the living room table, no well wishes from his relatives, who barely glanced up at his entrance. He hadn't expected there to be any of those things, but he felt their absence all the same.
"Morning," he greeted as he filled his plate with beans and toast.
"Good morning," his aunt Petunia said softly, without looking up. Dudley spared him a brief glance and a frown before continuing to scarf down his food while Vernon gave a surly grunt and flipped the page of his newspaper. His temper had grown shorter with each call from the neighbouring cottages and was close to disappearing entirely.
"No funny business today, you hear?"
Harry gave his uncle an appraising look before nodding in agreement. "Yes sir."
Vernon made a satisfied sound and flicked his paper straight. Harry walked over and was just about to sit down when the doorbell rang. Harry and the Dursleys looked toward the foyer before exchanging bemused looks. It wasn't even nine 'o clock on a Saturday morning; who on earth could be calling?
There were a few moments of side-eyeing as they silently argued about who would be getting up to answer the door, during which the bell rang again.
Harry sighed. "I'll get it," he offered with obvious sarcasm, pushing his chair back out and making his way to the front door. He blinked at what, or rather, who awaited him on the other side.
He had been expecting a lost motorist seeking directions, as was often the case in this part of the country, or else the more rare salesman hoping to "cheat honest, hard working people such as themselves out of house and home".
He supposed the older man before him could be a salesman. He was dressed formally - just, a bit too formally. The polished shoes, black slacks and button-up shirt were all fine, but the bow tie, cufflinks and coattails? Not something you would see outside of a concert hall.
The young lady beside him was dressed more normally in a modest skirt and plain blouse, yet her association with the man and their combined presence at the Dursley's front door made for an unusual situation.
"Uh, hello," Harry greeted uncertainly, already glancing around for whatever they were trying to sell. Uncle Vernon would want to know so he could tell them what to stick where, specifically.
"Good day," the man responded with a genial smile. He was fiddling with a short, polished stick; perhaps he was a conductor. Or was that some new product they were trying to sell? Uncle Vernon would be pleased if that were the case; the size and shape were convenient for his usual threats and insults. "This is Fir Tree Cottage, is it not?"
"Yes, that's, uh… here."
"Excellent!" the man exclaimed, beaming. Harry glanced askance at the woman, but she merely offered him a small smile and friendly nod. She was very pretty, he absently noted. "We would like to speak to one Harry Potter, please."
Harry froze, all but two questions fleeing his mind: Who were these people and what had he done to them?
'Damnit! Damn! The Murphy's? No, this isn't them. Not the Torringtons either, and the Thomas River folk still don't know it's me who keeps making fairy circles on their lawn.' A few other names came to mind, but not a single one of them was someone who he had an unsettled grudge with.
'Unless… oh."
"You, uh…." Harry swallowed a bit. "You didn't happen to find a newspaper full of flaming dung on your doorstep recently, did you?" He had been watching from a distance; the man who had emerged to curse and stomp out that fire at the cost of his shoes did look similar to this guy. They both had greying hair, at least.
The man blinked while the woman bit her lip and looked to the side, her mouth twitching. The man shot her a confused look before turning back to Harry.
"No, why do you ask?"
Harry relaxed slightly. "Just… out of concern."
The man seemed genuinely touched by his 'concern'. "Oh, why thank you!"
The lady's shoulders started to shake and Harry sent her a look somewhere between warning and pleading. The man didn't seem to notice.
"May we come in?"
Harry stared at him uncomprehendingly, his relief at being in the clear for that particular incident disappearing as he realised that they still wanted him, for reasons unknown, and now wanted to come inside.
"Uh… Uncle Vernon!" he called over his shoulder.
"What is it?" The shouted question was accompanied by an irritated straightening of a newspaper. "If it's a salesman, tell them to shove it! You know where!"
Harry glanced back at the two strangers and hesitated for a moment. "They're here for me!"
An angry growl. "Oh for Pete's sake, what did you-"
Harry blinked as his uncle's voice abruptly cut off, then jumped as the crash and clatter of a chair falling sounded from the dining room. Heavy, urgent footsteps made their way to the foyer; Harry stared wide-eyed as his aunt and uncle hurried around the corner and stopped dead in their tracks.
Vernon's face was red, and not from exertion. His fists were clenched at his side and his entire form was quivering like plum jelly. He was furious, more so than Harry had ever seen him. He stared at the man and the woman with wide, unblinking eyes that practically vibrated in their sockets.
Aunt Petunia's reaction was almost the exact opposite. With a small gasp, her face paled so quickly Harry thought she might faint. Trembling, though for reasons different to her husband's, she turned and ran back the way she had come.
Speechless, all Harry could do was look between his uncle and their equally surprised guests. In doing so, he noticed something: Vernon wasn't looking so much at them as he was the little wooden stick the older of the two was holding.
A tense, awkward silence formed between the two men, with Harry firmly in the centre.
"Uh, hello," the man said with a nervous chuckle. He seemed appropriately put off by Vernon's rage. "We are-"
"I know what you are."
Harry flinched as he felt chills go down his spine. Vernon's voice was a deadly whisper, so taut it could snap at any moment. His head whipped around to the two before him.
Who were they and what had they done?
"Ah." The two exchanged an uneasy glance. The man hesitated for a moment before stepping forward and asking, "May we come in?"
'Come in?' Harry wondered if they were seeing Vernon as he was. 'Do you want to die?'
The rotund man did indeed look like he was about to go and fetch the shotgun; Harry had never seen an expression with as much loathing. That was why, when his uncle slowly stepped aside to let them in, the boy's jaw hit the floor.
He barely had time to process his shock before Vernon laid a gentlehand on his shoulder and moved him out of the doorway so their guests could step inside. Harry stared up at him from where he was tucked into the man's side.
He was almost acting... protective.
Head spinning, he dumbly followed the guiding hand at his back as his uncle herded the strangers to the sitting room, the older man's pleasantries regarding their home washing over him.
They turned the corner to see Petunia down the passage, hurriedly ushering Dudley into his room. The two boys briefly made eye contact and, with startled expressions, silently asked each other what the hell was going on. Harry sent him a small head shake and bewildered shrug.
"In here," Vernon growled, nodding to the sitting room entryway. Both the girl and man scurried inside with just the slightest bit of dignity lost; they seemed to be somewhat cowed by the furious man.
"Uncle, what-"
"Not now, boy!"
Harry's mouth shut with a click. He went and sat across from the two agitators, a varnished coffee table separating the two couches. Vernon stayed standing, glaring from beside the arm of Harry's couch. Petunia made a reappearance a few seconds later, refusing to come into the sitting room and instead peeking in from the entryway.
After a moment of awkward silence, the man cleared his throat and stood from his seat and addressed the male Dursley.
"You… mentioned you knew who we are?"
"I know what you are," came the firm reiteration.
The man's brow furrowed a bit. "I take it you're not very fond of our kind, then?" This was accompanied by a searching gaze in Harry's direction, a look that was tinged with a bit of pity. He had no idea what that meant.
"No, we're not."
"Yet you let us in anyway, Mr Dursley. Why?"
Vernon's face twitched, perhaps at being called by a name he hadn't given, but didn't immediately answer. "It's the boy's decision," he said eventually.
'The boy' was just about fed up with not knowing what was happening.
"What?" he asked, all the attention turning to him. "What's my decision? What's going on here?"
The woman looked to Vernon and Petunia, surprised. "You haven't told him?"
"No," Harry responded for them, tired of being talked around. "They obviously haven't. So could you do me a favor and start explaining? Now, please?" His tone was far from polite; he normally wouldn't have dared be so disrespectful to guests in front of his relatives, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem like he'd mind in this case.
The two seemed a bit taken aback by his sharp tongue. They glanced at Vernon, who stayed silent, then each other and seemed to communicate something. The man cleared his throat once again and looked Harry in the eye.
"My name is Professor Charles Burbage and this is my assistant, Bathsheda Babbling."
"Just Sheda or Miss Babbling will do," said assistant quickly interjected, to Burbage's visible consternation. After shooting her a look, he continued.
"We are here as representatives of the school at which we teach, to offer you placement." He reached inside his waist coat and pulled out a yellowed envelope with his address written in dark green, flowing script across its front. Harry blinked dumbly as he reached out and took it.
'School?' he thought, examining the red wax seal on the other side. 'What school? I'm going to Smeltings, aren't I?'
"What's this place called?"
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Harry's first instinct was to laugh. His mouth stretched into a grin and half a chuckle made it out before he noted the silence in the room. Silence. No scoffs or sounds of scorn. He glanced at his relatives; Vernon was staring at the tabletop sullenly and Aunt Petunia had an anxious look on her face as she examined him. He looked back to Babbling and Burbage; there was not a hint of insincerity on their faces.
Harry felt the grin slip off his face.
"You're serious?"
"Yes."
Harry looked back to his relatives. Still nothing.
"So... it's a school for magicians? You teach people how to do magic tricks? Like pulling a rabbit out of a hat?"
Burbage smiled and shook his head. "Not quite," he said, brandishing that wooden stick of his. He could see Vernon start from the corner of his eye. "You'll find that what we teach is a bit more real."
His uncle took a step forward, a protest on his lips, but it was too late. Burbage waved the stick and Harry's mouth fell open as the solid wooden table between them suddenly dissolved into a flutter of brightly colored feathers and long beaks.
He stared in wonder as the flock of hummingbirds circled around the room, the air a-buzz with their blurring wings. He was transfixed by the sight, completely deaf to Vernon's raging demands for it to stop and Petunia's panicked shrieks.
The hummingbirds stopped in front of Burbage, and Harry noticed he'd been directing them with the stick. A wand, he realised suddenly. Grinning at the look on the boy's face, the man flicked his wand again and the birds became fire - flaming tongues the same shade of blue as the hummingbirds' feathers. Harry let out a shaky breath as he watched shapes form from the flames: galloping horses, mermaids spiralling through the air, a large squid with its tentacles drifting languidly around Ms Babbling's head, who was watching the display with some small amusement.
Another swish of the stick and it was all over. The flames condensed into a single point just before the couch on which Harry sat, warped for a split second and returned to being a coffee table.
Harry ignored his uncle as he stormed up to the actual wizard in their living room and began shouting at him, red in the face. Something about transfiguring their furniture. He wasn't paying attention. Instead, he reached out with a hand and gently rested it against the varnished table top in front of him.
Solid. Real.
Real indeed.
A million thoughts raced through his head. A school for witchcraft and wizardry. They were wiards? He was a wizard? Magic. His abilities. All the things he'd done throughout the years. Memories, emotions and realisations spun around in his head like an errant tornado.
And then a single fact jumped out at him.
"You knew!"
Vernon stopped mid-rant and turned to his nephew, who was staring at him with a level of shock and incredulity he'd never seen the boy wear before. Harry jumped to his feet, jaw working up and down as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say next.
"You knew!" he eventually repeated. "You knew about all this. Magic! You knew, all this time, that that's what I was doing!" He was breathing heavily. "And you didn't tell me!"
He was angry. The fact that his uncle wasn't getting angry in return just made him angrier. The man simply regarded him with the coolest expression Harry had ever seen on his face, and that was saying something.
"No, I didn't."
A long, deep gash suddenly appeared in the floorboards between them, splinters and curls of wood flying into the air. Burbage and his young assistant let out startled sounds that were nearly drowned out by Aunt Petunia's ear-piercing scream. The woman was pale and shaking, pleading with him from behind the wall.
"Harry! Harry, don't!"
He ignored her.
"Why?!" he screamed at his suddenly apprehensive uncle. "Why not?! It…! I was…!" Harry swallowed thickly. It had been agonising wondering and not knowing what made him the way he was. What separated him from his relatives and was in a big way responsible for their keeping him at arm's length. Not that he would ever admit it. "I deserved to know!"
Something was burning; a sharp, acrid smell hung in the air.
"Young man," Burbage broke in, his voice sounding strained, "I really think you should ca-"
"Stay out of this," Harry snarled, his finger snapping up to point at the man's startled eyes. Babbling stood from her seat on the other couch, a wand of her own appearing in her hands. Harry ignored her and turned back to his uncle, who looked on the verge of exploding with anger.
"Now you look here, boy! We-"
"What? What did you do? Treat me like a burden my whole life? Constantly let me know I'm not welcome?" He'd always thought the Dursley's had been just as clueless about his abilities as he was. That whatever animosity they held toward him was borne out of fear of the unknown. But they had known.
The burning smell was getting stronger.
"Harry, please!"
"What gave you the right to-!?"
"It's what your parents wanted!"
The smell faded instantly. Harry turned his attention to his aunt for the first time, anger replaced by a dumb-struck expression.
"My parents?"
The parents that were hardly ever spoken about? The ones whom he had asked questions about so often and never received answers? The people whose appearances he only knew from the background of a photograph he had stolen from his guardian's wedding album?
The ones that would have been ashamed of him? Those parents?
Petunia nodded shakily, eyeing him with unmasked fear. Harry stepped back, out of the circle he had just noticed had been burnt into the carpet, and flopped back onto the couch, expression vacant as he processed this new revelation.
A short silence ensued, in which his aunt emerged from behind the wall to clutch his uncle's arm, who was glaring daggers at him, and their two visitors uncomfortably retook their seats.
"Could they… Could my parents do magic too?" he asked eventually. The question was directed toward his relatives, but, surprisingly, it was Burbage who answered.
"They could," he said, sounding relieved to move on from the rather intense scene that had just unfolded. "And were quite good at it too, from what I remember. I began teaching when they were in their seventh year."
Harry moved to the edge of his couch cushion, hungry gaze now fixed on the man across from him. "Seventh year? You mean they were students at this school of yours?"
"Hogwarts, yes," the professor replied, looking more comfortable with the familiar topic. "Seventh year is the final year of education, in which students-"
"Can you tell me about them?" Harry interrupted, not remotely interested in anything else the man had to say.
Burbaged winced and was back to looking uncomfortable. "I'm afraid I can't. They weren't part of my class and I only knew them by name and face. Though perhaps your family might…."
Burbage trailed off. Harry followed his gaze, already knowing what he'd see. Vernon's piggy eyes were like coals, burning a message of loathing into Harry's unaffected emerald orbs. He was too angry to fear the man, but received what he was saying loud and clear: You're not getting a thing from me. Not unexpected; Harry had failed to extract information on his parents from him when he was in a good mood; he certainly wasn't going to succeed now.
Burbage cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Perhaps you could learn something from one of the other professors at Hogwarts. If you choose to attend, of course."
Harry hesitated. Images of panicking crowds and fleeing reptiles, then blue fire and hummingbirds flitted through his mind.
"You can teach me how to do magic? Proper magic?"
"We can."
"And how to stop…." He gestured weakly to the damage he'd just caused.
"That too."
The boy paused, then nodded. "I accept."
Vernon's glare deepened, but he didn't offer any opposition. Harry didn't know what was keeping the man silent, but he knew it wasn't any goodwill toward him. Judging by the way he was examining the gouged floorboards and burnt carpet and grinding his teeth, the two would not be on good terms for a while.
"Fantastic! Now, we do need you to actually read that," Burbage said, gesturing to the still unopened letter in Harry's hand, "and familiarize yourself with the enclosed code of conduct, as well as the information packet and list of items that are required for your first year. Other than that there's just a bit of admin we have to go through, then we'll be on our way." He smiled an eager smile. "That you will complete with Ms Babbling here. In the meantime, do you mind terribly if I examine your kitchen, Mrs Dursely?"
If the way Petunia squawked and hurried after him was any indication, she did mind. Harry, Vernon and Ms Babbling were then left alone in the living room, which made for a very tense and awkward situation, what with the lingering smell of burnt fabric and wood chips littering the floor.
"Well," she began with a small, nervous chuckle, turning to Vernon. Her voice was soft to the point of timidness. "You'll need to sign these as Mr. Potter's -"
"Harry."
She paused at the interruption and gave him an unreadable look, then a tiny nod. "As Harry's legal guardian." She finished removing a stack of more yellowed papers from inside a pocket on her skirt that definitely did not have the necessary dimensions to hold them and placed them on the coffee table.
Vernon sneered down at the papers and for a second Harry thought he was angry enough to refuse out of spite. A venomous mix of fear and anger shot through him at the thought.
"What is it?" the man asked eventually, his voice gruff and tight. The way he kept his distance made it clear he didn't want to be anywhere near the stack of… wait, was that parchment?
"Mostly legal documents. Things like school fees, NDA's and waivers. See, Hogwarts is a very safe place, but some of the activities and work in the curriculum is inherently dangerous and - "
"The school fees. Will we have to pay for them?"
Harry sincerely hoped not. The way his uncle asked the question made it abundantly clear he wasn't prepared to fork out any money on his nephew's behalf. Ms Babbling's expression grew a smidge tighter as she gave the man a look.
"Normally you would, or else take on a Ministry scholarship, but as I understand it, Mr Pot-... Harry's fees have already been paid in full."
Harry blinked, the question about what a Ministry scholarship was dissolving on his tongue. "What? By who?"
The young woman flipped through a few pages in the stack and peered at one in particular. "Your parents. It says here that they set aside some money for your education before they passed."
They had? Harry leant back as he absorbed that knowledge. That... sounded like something people who cared for him would do. A smile broke out on his face.
His uncle's face had twisted at the mention of his parents. Harry watched him carefully, silently urging him to pick up a pen. Vernon eventually sighed, a sound which was closer to resigned growl. "Where do I sign?"
Harry couldn't help but be a bit surprised at the easy acceptance, but refrained from commenting as the man scribbled his signature across the first two documents. Not until he caught a glimpse of one of the paragraphs in the waiver.
"'Unnatural deformation and/or indefinite bestial transformation?'" he asked, voice incredulous. Ms Babbling offered him a demure smile.
"That warning was included mostly due to the potions class; things can go wrong in the most unpredictable ways. I spent a week in second year with my hair transformed into quills. Like a porcupine."
Harry didn't know if he wanted to laugh or gape. He settled on a nervous chuckle while running a concerned hand through his raven locks.
When Vernon had signed the last of the pages, Ms Babbling waved her wand and the pages flew back into the pocket from whence they came, much to Harry's continued awe and his uncle's consternation.
"Now," she began, "there's just the matter of your school supplies. You obviously won't find any of that stuff in the mundane world, so we'll need to schedule a date and time at which to go shopping."
"How soon can we go?" Harry asked, at the same time as Vernon blurted out, "You're coming back?"
"As soon as today and as late as two weeks from now," Ms Babbling answered with a smile, ignoring the other male's outburst. "However, we understand that today-"
She abruptly cut off as Harry rose. "I'll be ready in two minutes."
The woman blinked at him in surprise. "What? Hey, wait just a second!"
He stopped, taken aback as her demeanor suddenly shifted. "Is something wrong?"
"You want to go today?"
Harry frowned at her. "Didn't you say we could?"
"Well, yeah, but…." She faltered. Harry looked at her with a bemused expression; the mild-mannered, mature air she'd had about her up until now was gone, in its place an almost petulant expression. It made her look childlike and he suddenly had the odd sense he was no longer dealing with an adult.
'Actually,' he thought, tilting his head, 'how old is she?' Young, definitely. Younger than he'd first thought, perhaps?
"It's your birthday, isn't it? Wouldn't you rather spend the day celebrating?"
He nearly scoffed. "I've got nothing planned for today. Even if I did, nothing…." Harry trailed off, his wonder at all that had just happened and what it meant nearly overwhelming him. He shook his head slowly, a stupid grin growing on his face. "Nothing could compare to this."
She hesitated still. "Are you sure?" Her tone was almost pleading.
"Positive."
There was a soft sigh, before she cast her eyes to the ceiling and nodded. "Okay then," she said, some of her earlier professionalism returning. "We'll leave in a few minutes."
Harry nodded and, still grinning like an idiot, ran down the hall to his room. On the way he passed Dudley peeking out through his cracked door and gave the boy a massive, happy smile, then laughed at his bewildered expression. He leapt into his room with a small whoop and quickly threw on a pair of shoes and a light jacket.
He felt giddy. Hummingbirds and fiery blue horses kept flitting through his head; if he could learn to do that instead of causing chaos, panic and destruction….
He laughed again, truly, genuinely happy for the first time in a while.
When he returned to the living room both the carpet and floor were fixed, looking as if they had never been damaged in the first place. His smile widened as he realised magic must have been used and was slightly disappointed he hadn't seen it.
Burbage was back, munching on a piece of buttered toast as Petunia glared weakly at him from behind her husband, whose mood had not improved with the state of his living room. "I understand you want to procure your school supplies today?" he asked. Harry nodded enthusiastically. He thought he saw Babbling's eyes roll in his peripherals, but her expression was innocent when he looked her way.
"Excellent, excellent! It seems we'll get everything done in a single day then!" He turned to the Dursley's. "This will most likely take several hours, but we will have him back before three I suspect."
"Don't care," Vernon grunted. "Get out."
Burbage's cheerful expression became cool. "As you wish. Have a good day."
Still angry at his guardians' lying to him, Harry couldn't help but take a small amount of vindictive pleasure in the knowledge that their chances of a good day were ruined beyond repair.
"So where are we going?" He asked excitedly as they made their way up the path that led to the road.
"A place called Diagon Alley," answered Professor Burbage. "A central hub for magicals all across Great Britain. It's a vital part of the wizarding world."
"Cool," Harry said excitedly. "Where's that?"
"London."
London? That was several hours away. "How are we getting there?" He asked with a frown as they arrived at the road and found there wasn't a vehicle in sight. The other two paused.
"That's a good question." Babbling looked to the older man. "Professor?"
Professor Burbage hesitated. "Tell me Mr Potter, between being in a five-minute-long car accident and being squeezed through a hosepipe and becoming sick as a result, which would you prefer?"
Harry gaped at him, not knowing how to answer. "Neither!"
The teacher and his assistant exchanged looks. "We may as well teach him how to use the Knight Bus," Babbling said with a sigh.
The professor nodded and they walked over to the side of the road, where he then held out his wand as if hailing a cab. After a few seconds of confused silence and nothing happening, Harry let out a startled yell and fell on his arse as a massive, purple triple-decker bus exploded into existence in front of them.
Babbling doubled-over laughing and he spared her a brief, half-hearted glare before marveling at the vehicle that was just suddenly there. Faint wisps of steam curled off the brightly coloured bodywork and danced in the air with the smoke that emitted from the tyres.
His awed examination of the bus was interrupted as the doors opened with a hiss and a pimply, sloppily uniformed teenager stepped out.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus," he greeted them in a monotone voice, reading from a small slip of paper in his hands. "Emergency transportation for the stranded witch or -"
"Oh, shut up, Stan." Babbling straightened, wiping tears from her eyes. Harry gave her a perplexed look; her speech and tone were suddenly rougher, her voice louder. "Three to Diagon Alley."
The young man gave a start and looked up with wide eyes. "Sheda? Wha-... What'chu doin' all the way out 'ere? An' Professor Burbage too."
The man made no effort to disguise his long suffering sigh. "Hello Mr Shunpike."
The unkempt teenager gave a stupid half smile and a lackadaisel wave before turning his attention to Harry. "Who's this then?"
"Uh, Harry. Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."
Stan nodded. His eyes flicked to Burbage and then back to Harry. "You a muggleborn?"
He blinked. "What?"
"Stan." Babbling took a half-step toward the pimply teenager and he flinched back. "Three to Diagon Alley. Now."
All three males stared at her for a second. She took another half step forward and Stan hurriedly took two backward. "Ah, right. Three, Diagon Alley." He punched a few buttons into the device he wore around his neck and it spat out three tickets. "Here."
Harry didn't look away from Babbling as he accepted his ticket. The woman's personality was straying further and further from his mild first impression of her with every second that passed and it was slightly disconcerting. "What was that about?"
Her lips thinned a bit. "'Muggle's' are what we call non-wizarding people. He wanted to know if your parents were wizards or not; in the context he was asking, it wasn't the politest question."
Harry digested the information with a nod and stepped onto the bus, then blinked and frowned in confusion as he found the first level to possess wheeled, steel-framed beds in place of seats. He pointed, mouth opening to question the strange sight, but was discouraged by an exasperated look and dismissive hand wave from Babbling. "No idea," she mumbled in answer to his unasked query.
The two led him to the second floor where there were seats and sat down. Burbage and Babbling were both tense as they took their seats and gripped the railing in front of them. Harry hesitantly took the aisle seat and copied the gesture. There were one or two other passengers on the bus and he observed how they two were clutching nearby points of support; one old woman sat pressed against the window with the curtain bunched up in her white-knuckled fist.
"All righ', Ernie, we're good to go," he heard Stan Shunpike shout from the level below. Harry felt a sense of foreboding enter the air as bodies shifted and grips tightened.
"This…. This is the five minute car accident, isn't it?" he realised, Burbage's words coming back to him.
He had two seconds to take in Babbling's answering nod and smirk before the world became a blur and he was slammed back into his seat.
"Bloody Hell!"
AN: And done. Finally. I've started university this year and the workload is intense, which isn't helped by the fact that everything is online. I write in whatever spare time I get, but it still takes a while to write and actually write well. I'm still not entirely happy with how this chapter turned out, but it will do.
I'm going to focus on my RWBY story for the next couple of updates, so for those who read it, you're in for consecutive chapters. I figured I'm not giving my most popular story enough attention.
Now, you're probably noticing some abnormalities in the plot already. A lot is going to be explained in the next chapter, in which the visit to Diagon Alley takes place and Burbage and Babbling are subjected to Harry's incessant questioning and smart-ass attitude.
If you have any questions, comments, criticism or concerns, please leave a review and I'll get back to you.
That's all for now. Cheers!