Disclaimer: This applies to all chapters; I do NOT own Harry Potter or any recognisable works.
Chapter One: A Birthday Surprise
The doorbell rang.
Harry, who was crouched down low and hunched over the flower beds, didn't spare a glance towards the house. He knew that he wasn't in any position to answer the door; not while in the raggedy clothes that he wore for his chores. His Aunt Petunia had been fretting more than usual over the family image and so to greet anyone at the door was just not an option. In the past, it had been expected for him to deal with the postman or the milkman but now he was not to, under any circumstances, have contact with those in the local community. In a messed up way it made sense; when he was younger the Dursleys had viewed him as the freak that handled the tasks that no-one else wanted to. But now he was a freak going to a 'freak school' and that made him somewhat dangerous in the eyes of his family. They were afraid that he would destroy their carefully obtained image of normalcy and perfection; so they kept him hidden away. In no way did that mean he was let off of his chores, however; he was free to roam the house and backyard to do those! They were working him harder this summer than they ever had done in his life. Harry sighed quietly as he heard Aunt Petunia running down the stairs to answer the door. A quiet conversation started up and his Aunt was speaking extremely quickly so he couldn't quite catch what was being said, but that didn't really matter. He dismissed the background noise and carried on with his work: the sooner he was done, the sooner he could retreat to his bedroom.
Aunt Petunia had not yet allowed him to have a break and he was beginning to think that she was not likely to at all, despite the scorching sun. His parched throat and flushed face was reminding him uncomfortably that he wasn't even allowed to stop for a cold drink of water without her say so. Before leaving the house that morning, his Uncle had lay down the rules of his punishment - Harry still wan't quite sure what he had done wrong - and they were proving to be a grueling regime. In his usual aggravated, impatient manner Uncle Vernon had told him that the summer was not going to be an 'easy ride' for Harry, not that the boy had expected anything different. After grunting his acknowledgement of Harry's meek 'yes, Uncle Vernon', in an unusual display of affection he had kissed Aunt Petunia and left the house, slamming the front door loudly behind him. Harry hadn't expected an easy ride at Privet Drive, as his uncle had put it. The Dursleys had never given him anything easily, that was just how things were with them. But even so, in the year that Harry had spent at school he had been heralded a national hero and that had somewhat fogged his memory of how bad life at the Dursley's could be.
The voices were getting closer and footsteps could be heard coming towards the kitchen. For a split second Harry panicked, wondering if his Aunt wanted him out of sight but the feeling went as quickly as it came. He smiled grimly at the thought of watching Aunt Petunia squirm while trying to make up a good excuse for his current appearance.
On the select few times that Aunt Petunia's friends had come over for tea, some of the women would comment on how small he was, or how ghastly he looked in the clothes that were 'rather big' for him. Some had even pointed out the bruises painted on his body from the tussles he would have with Dudley. At these comments Aunt Petunia would sniff and give a quick explanation, but she wasn't always able to spin a convincing lie. Harry had learnt, however, that if lies didn't work Aunt Petunia had very peculiar powers of distraction. She was a pro at subtly changing the topic and Harry never saw those few nosy friends again.
He looked through the open backdoor and wondered who it would be. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that it was unlikely that the guest was a friend. Harry knew it wasn't Uncle Vernon or Dudley, they weren't due back for hours yet and both of them had unmistakable booming voices. What was most probable was that Aunt Marge had come to visit - she was the only other person he knew that would be allowed to know about him and witness how he was made to slave away.
Because Harry was expecting different, his jaw dropped when he saw who it was.
It wasn't family, nor was it anyone that he thought Aunt Petunia would willingly entertain. There he was, in his shorts (that were more like ¾ lengths they were so large), a baggy t-shirt and a mud-smudged face. And there they were: Ron Weasley and his parents. He had tried not to think of Ron or Hermione over the past few weeks because, as much as he hated to say it, he had thought the two had no longer wanted to be friends with him. At the beginning of the summer he had sent them little notes nearly everyday, but they had never replied. It was now clear, however, that there had to be another reason why Ron hadn't written.
Harry could hardly believe his luck, this was the best and the only birthday surprise he had ever received!
"What are you doing here?" He asked jubilantly, looking up at them while shading his eyes with a dirty hand. Then, thinking that the question had sounded quite rude, he added hastily, "I'm so glad to see you!" He was grinning so broadly at the family, he felt as thought his face would split in two.
Mrs. Weasley smiled at him kindly, answering softly, "We realised that you weren't getting Ronald's letters, so we took it upon ourselves to come and invite you personally."
"You mean to come and visit you?"
Ron nodded and smiled at him boyishly, "For the rest of the summer, mate." Elated, Harry threw down the old, rusting gardening fork into the soil with a flurry and rose stiffly from his crouch. He was finally getting away from the Dursleys.
"He's not going!" Harry jerked at the harsh interlude and glanced at Aunt Petunia in surprise. It had not occurred to him that his Aunt wouldn't want to get him out of her hair.
"And why not?" Everyone was now looking at her and Mrs. Weasley had voiced the question that they were all thinking. Frustration bubbled up in Harry's chest as his eyes zeroed in solely on Aunt Petunia, awaiting her response impatiently. She just wants to keep me unhappy, he thought to himself angrily. She was cutting off her nose to spite her face! His gaze roamed over her face intently, her eyes hadn't yet given anything away but in a weird, obsessive way he wanted to hear her say it. He wanted her to admit to everyone that she couldn't stand to see him happy. But Aunt Petunia had yet to respond. A moment went past and all she did was fidget uncomfortably; her hands flitting from her hair and to her dress - both of which she smoothed down nervously. Harry couldn't help but recognise that there was more to her reasoning than plain old spite.
"A letter was sent to me, Harry, from your headmaster." Harry's eyes widened at the revelation. She was talking to him directly and for a change her voice was devoid of anger or bitterness. "Believe me, I was surprised that he had written too... we haven't heard anything from him or," She paused and glanced at the Weasleys for a moment before her eyes firmly met Harry's once more, "from your world since you were left on our doorstep. At first I was shocked at that I had received a letter at all but that was nothing in comparison to how I felt after reading what he had to say.
"He told me all about what you went through these past couple of months and it scared me Harry. It scared me so much more than when your parents told me why they were going into hiding because they certainly didn't have a happy ending and they were adults... I know what that wizard is capable of and you faced him this year! You're just a child Harry and to think it's the same man…" Aunt Petunia drew a ragged breath and cast her gaze downwards, watching her wringing hands in a detached way. It was as though her body was foreign to her and acting on its own accord. Harry could identify with how strange his Aunt must have been feeling, this was the most time that Aunt Petunia had ever taken to explain something to him. It all felt surreal to him. Suddenly she was babbling again and it was almost as though she had been waiting for the right moment to talk to him about this. Her voice was hesitant, her words jilted - but it was honest, unedited and completely surreal.
"He had told us not to pamper you with luxuries because he wanted to be a grounded and normal child. So we gave you chores. He had written that to spare the rod would spoil the child; of course he didn't mean that we should hit you but rather that you needed strict discipline. He wanted you to grow up with structure and fam–" The last word stuck in her throat but Harry knew what she was going to say: family. The more she talked, the more Harry wished that the ground would swallow him whole. Why did she have to say all of this in front of the Weasleys? He knew that she probably felt just as uncomfortable as he did. He wasn't just uncomfortable though, he was starting to get angry. How could she even begin to recite the contents of that letter when the instructions hadn't been dutifully followed? He felt like a stranger in the house! He was constantly reminded of how much of a burden he was, and he never once felt like he wasn't an orphan. What family? Aunt Petunia cleared her throat nervously.
"I'm sorry, Harry, I really am. I know that I could have tried harder with you and that we could've raised you better... I admit that your Uncle does sometimes goes overboard when disciplining you, but we were only ever doing what had been asked of us. Truly! We weren't meant to spoil you and we were forbidden from telling you about your magic."
Harry felt a small jolt of guilt at that. When he had learnt that they had hidden his magical heritage from him, he had taken great pleasure in Hagrid's hostile behaviour towards the Dursleys on his eleventh birthday. He had been so angry at them and had felt such a deep resentment ever since; he had stewed on how had they lied to him for so long about something so integral to his being. To learn that those feelings had been aimed at the wrong people was a sobering thought. They hadn't lied to him out of spite nor out of the misguided idea that they could discourage his magic. They had been following orders from his favourite teacher at Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore.
"We were also asked to keep you safe–"
"Are you suggesting that we won't be able to look after him properly?" Aunt Petunia's eyes darted to meet Mrs. Weasley's, who had interjected sharply, and was startled to find three furious glares directed at her. She shook her head denying what the Weasleys thought was a veiled insult.
"No, not at all! It's just that my parents sent my little sister into the magical world and she died; am I supposed to send my only nephew into the same danger? After I've been asked to keep him safe?" Again Aunt Petunia shook her head. "He's not going back and he's not going with you."
Ron looked up at his parents but they couldn't do anything and Harry knew it. Aunt Petunia was his guardian and so if she said he couldn't go somewhere, then he couldn't.
Harry crouched down over the flower bed once more and cradled the rusted gardening fork in his muddy palm. Although to Ron this seemed to be a crushing display of submission and defeat, the adults recognised the young man's quiet fury. They were not sure if Harry saw it in himself, but he was like a tightly coiled spring that was ready to lash out.
"Why do you make him work on his birthday?" Ron's indignant and innocently childlike question washed over Harry. Ron didn't yet understand that not all kids experienced the kind and loving upbringing that Mr and Mrs Weasley effortlessly executed for their own children. Harry wanted to stop listening, he wanted everyone to leave him alone and just stop talking! He closed his eyes tightly, trying to keep his temper at bay and so missed his Aunt's guilty expression.
"You didn't know it was his birthday?"
"Ron! That's enou-"
"Of course I know it's his birthday!" Aunt Petunia snapped back but then lost all gusto, "Vernon… His uncle… um, maybe it would be best if you left." Harry didn't look up as he heard them start to leave. He knew he was being rude but he really couldn't face the kind family and his tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of his mouth, he was so embarrassed.
"Happy birthday mate." Harry wanted to thank Ron's quiet congratulations; to thank him for bothering to turn up and question his Aunt in the way that he had. But by the time he had mustered up the courage to loosen his tongue, they had already gone. He was left alone with his Aunt Petunia.
"I suppose you have a lot of questions –"
"I'm not allowed to ask questions! Remember?" Harry cut off his Aunt angrily, throwing the fork across the garden. To hell with his Uncle's rules, he couldn't do it anymore. Not wanting to show his Aunt anymore disrespect he forced himself to keep silent and ran a hand through his uncombed hair, yanking at the ends.
Standing from his crouch, he took a deep breath before attempting to escape into the house to make his way to his bedroom. He didn't get far though; Aunt Petunia took his arm as he was passing.
"I think you and I should sit and talk." They stood there for what seamed like forever, Harry not acknowledging her and Aunt Petunia not wanting to provoke him any more than he already was. It took some patience on both of their parts but it wasn't long before Harry was begrudgingly plodding into the dining room after his Aunt. They took a seat at the table facing one another, Aunt Petunia had her hands clasped on the surface and silence reigned for a few minutes longer. Harry cleared his throat and started picking the dirt from underneath his fingernails and Aunt Petunia took that as her cue,
"Your Uncle and I have had many disagreements when it came to how we should raise you. But the one thing we both strongly agreed on was that we didn't want you going to Hogwarts."
When she saw Harry's face she held up a hand, "Don't get me wrong, we weren't trying to deny you of your heritage, honestly."
Aunt Petunia looked at Harry. Really looked at him. "You've always reminded me of Lily. She was a kind girl, even without a reason, she helped whoever she could and was always so polite. It hurt me every time you looked at me with her eyes or when smiled just like she would. Sometimes you say things just like she would have and its scary because you don't have any memory of her, but you're just like her. It's horrible for me to admit this aloud but I didn't want to talk to you because of that. I hated being in the same room as you at times... I know that my feelings aren't a valid excuse for the way I've treated you but it's what drove my behaviour and I'm sorry for that."
Harry found that he couldn't take his eyes off of her, the room was tense but she was smiling softly. Something else was coming.
"I know that you don't enjoy being around your Uncle or myself - we haven't exactly been the best parental figures for you - so we have decided to send you to another boarding school. It's one of the best in the world, actually. I want you to continue your education," Aunt Petunia bit her lip and for the first time she uttered the word he never thought he would hear her say, "your non-magical education at IBS des Dourbies."
Harry stared at her hard, silently demanding an explanation. What was an IBS? Where was it and why did she think it was so fitting for him?
"The International Bilingual School of Dourbies, that is, is in France and accommodates students all year round." Harry sighed. Of course it was in France, Dourbies was in France. "There are a few boarding schools in France that only do, um, Monday to Saturday but obviously you would need to have a place to stay for the entirety of the academic year… And your Uncle and I figured that an international school would be better for you to attend because there would be other students in your position. Well, perhaps not exactly in your position but…" She trailed off suddenly uncertain.
"But I don't understand," Harry finally spoke, his voice tightly controlled. "Why does it have to be in France?"
"Well because that man," Harry didn't have to ask to know who she was referring to, "is here in England and I just don't think it's safe for you here. I mean, I'm not blind or dumb, I noticed how those people would come up to you in the street and shake your hand. They would fawn all over you and it worried me that you were so recognisable. I tried to keep your appearance inconspicuous, I would hide your scar before we left the house and I would make sure to never say your name in public, but they still recognised you. With your face being so well known, Harry, sending you away in order to keep you safe seems like the only option." Aunt Petunia looked at her nephew searchingly, trying to see if he was becoming more agreeable. She desperately wanted him to understand where she was coming from and why she was doing this.
To her relief, there was comprehension in his face. Harry understood that this IBS place wasn't too far away but it far enough from Britain's wizarding world. Voldemort and his followers would assume that he was continuing at Hogwarts and when they realised that he was gone (it was only a matter of time), they would either try to find out what other magical school he had been enrolled in, or where in England he resided. No witch or wizard would ever consider that he was in a muggle school somewhere in France, their world was entirely too insular for them to come to that conclusion. Harry paused in his musings as a far more sinister thought shot through his tired mind and he quickly turned away from his Aunt. Perhaps Aunt Petunia was getting what she truly wanted under the guise of worry: total separation from him. Perhaps her sudden change in attitude was an attempt to mask how she honestly felt. Harry kept his thoughts to himself and not a flicker of emotion passed over his face as he sat contemplating his next move.
Perhaps he could run away.
"Have I been accepted then?" He was thankful that he was the only magical person in the room. His thoughts were private despite her deeply penetrating gaze.
She nodded and Harry's eyes flashed dangerously. She hadn't asked him anything! It shouldn't matter that he was still a child, she was dictating his life and that was not fair! If he had been consulted beforehand and asked for his opinion on this decision, it would have definitely softened the blow. But then, Harry noted darkly, decency always was too much to ask of the Dursleys. For the second time that afternoon, his anger bubbled up through his chest and right out of his mouth. He wanted to rant and rave and scream and run away but he threw sharp words at his Aunt instead. These words had been circling in his mind since the conversation had started and drove his feelings of fear and reluctance.
"Does it matter that untamed magic is potentially problematic? To an extent down-right unsafe?"
He wanted her to be afraid too but he didn't want to talk anymore to her anymore see if it had worked. It was too much, too personal and too much of a show of weakness. He would be damned if he started showing the Dursleys any weaknesses again, he hadn't since he was six. Not waiting for an answer he bolted up out of his seat, sending the chair flying and clattering noisily to the floor. Aunt Petunia kept her eyes trained on the chair as Harry stormed out of the room and neither noticed the tears spilling down Harry's flushed cheeks. He ran to his room, making sure to stomp on the stairs loudly and slammed his door as hard as he could.
Throwing himself face-down on his bed Harry gave in to his feelings and heaved sobs into his pillow. None of this was fair at all! He had only just been introduced to the magic - to his potential - and he had loved it! For the first time in his life he had truly loved something about himself and it was being snatched away from him all too soon. Unnoticed by Harry, the floor started to shake and his furniture buzzed softly with the vibrations. His nervous and angry energy had finally sprung out of its coil and was reverberating around the room. He thought of how he would be parted from his friends, the first friends that he had ever made and who had liked him for him. Hedwig's cage bounced and swayed on the edge of the desk it had been precariously placed on. A pot of ink vibrated right off his desk and hit the wooden floor. The smash of the glass pulled Harry out of his thoughts. He rolled over quickly and sat up to see what had fallen. The room looked normal, strangely peaceful even as though a storm had passed through unknown to him. He sniffed as he spied the ink slowly seeping into the cracks between the floorboards but he didn't move to clear it up.
As small as it was – a pot of ink falling to the ground – Harry speculated as to whether he had performed accidental magic. How else could an otherwise stationary object move? He sighed and wiped angrily at his face as his own words echoed in his mind harshly. 'Problematic, unsafe, untamed.' If he wasn't going back to Hogwarts, he couldn't afford to let bouts of accidental magic happen like that, especially as unknowingly as it had been just then. He inhaled deeply, his lungs raggedly drawing in oxygen and calming his mind. The first rule seemed to be, he decided as he took measured breaths, was not to lose control of his emotions.
With one last deep, suffering sigh Harry settled back onto his mattress and finally a submissive gleam haunted his half shut eyes. In that moment he knew exactly what he should do and that running away wasn't an option. That would be to expressly go against his Uncle and Aunts authority and he knew that right now he needed them. So, he was going to do exactly as he was told.
He gripped the edge of his duvet and rolled over, effectively wrapping himself in warmth and comfort. He had Hedwig, so staying in touch with his friends wouldn't be an issue. It would be quite fun to be in another country (It would be an adventure! A daunting, restrictive and muggle adventure, but one all the same and Harry loved adventures) and there would not be too much of a language barrier. Not only was it an international school but both he and Dudley were fluent in French – they had attended a bilingual nursery when they were younger. Perhaps Aunt Petunia had been planning this much longer than she was actually letting on.
Closing his sore and now oddly dry eyes, Harry noted wryly that he despite all the upset he still hadn't managed to get a glass of water. This thought lingered with him until he fell into a light, uneasy sleep, ignoring the midday sun that poured brightly through his bedroom window.
xXx
Harry had a feeling he was being watched. A feeling that had been with him since he had woken up that morning, but he hadn't paid much attention to it. Now however, the feeling was stark within the stillness of his room and goosebumps had flared across his arms like wildfire. He slowly opened his eyes and a pair of giant green ones stared back. His heart thumping quickly, Harry jolted awake and launched himself out of his bed.
"Who are you?" He demanded, realising for the first time what is felt to be truly defenceless, wandless. Even if he couldn't do much with it, he felt that he could have at least put up a fight.
"I is Dobby the house elf Harry Potter, sir." Dobby had a small squeaky voice, not at all loud. It played with It's 'garments' – if you could call such rags that – nervously. Harry managed a second question.
"Why are you in my room?" Harry was still extremely weary. If the wizarding world had taught him anything it was that nothing should be judged purely by its appearance. This House Elf creature could be as dangerous as devil's snare, quiet and unassuming but deadly.
Startled by his own thoughts Harry eyed the creature again. It was standing in the middle of the room hopping from one foot to the other. Its eyes were wide, darting here and there and not really focusing on anything. Was It sane?
"Harry Potter, Dobby has come to warn you sir! You must not go back to Hogwarts! There is a plot –"
"I'm not." Dobby had successfully reminded Harry why he was in his bed. Moving back towards his bed he shoved his duvet to one side – though still painstakingly aware not to turn his back on this creature – and flung himself back down onto the mattress dejectedly. His short legs swung feely over the side of the bed, and he huffed in annoyance at that too. He had noticed that Ron had grown since he had last seen him. He was always the smallest.
"You is not going back this year?" Harry shook his head. Dobby's mouth relaxed from the previously decided frown and seemed to physically soften. Its ears, which stuck straight up, flopped into a relaxed position. And yet although Ithad stopped his agitated little dance, Its eyes were still going like crazy. What Harry hadn't noticed before was the absence of a pupil in one eye and in the other the pupil was extremely small, scarily so. There was something about it that made Harry feel quite wary. He and tried to think of something to say that wouldn't set It off in hysterics – as It's nervous energy suggested that It was prone to do.
He needn't have worried because before Harry could begin to answer, Dobby had stopped playing with his pillowcase - which Harry guessed substituted clothes - and with a small smile disappeared with a faint 'pop'.
"No," Harry said quietly to the empty space, "my Aunt is sending me elsewhere."
'What a strange and scary creature,' thought Harry, 'It can't be normal. A whole species could not seem that… deranged.' Not that his musings had any founding as he had not met many other house elves to compare Dobby with.
Harry glanced at the clock on his bedside table and stretched. Four in the afternoon. Could he really have slept that long?
Evidently so.
Harry heaved himself off his bed and slipped on his pair of trainers. It surprised him when he realised he would need a new pair. There was a time when he had to stuff them with socks to stop them from falling off. Now his toes pressed uncomfortably snug at the tip.
A strange echo, perhaps of wailing reached his ears. He glanced at the window to see if it was open; perhaps the wind was singing again. He was brought to his senses when the bright sun, although lower in the sky, met his eye. It had been a scorcher today, without any assistance from the wind to make it slightly bearable. And anyway, the sound he was hearing was deeper, more intimate than a surface noise reaching his ear. Much like when he had found Hermione crying over something mean Ron had said about her, this wail was a cry reaching out to his soul, moving him to action.
Harry stood up straight. Someone nearby was crying in despair; he could feel it. He barely noticed himself leaving his room or stalking past the living room until his Aunt called out to him,
"Harry, where are you going?"
"I don't know." He answered truthfully but got a funny look in return.
He walked out of the front door and just let his feet carry him to where they thought he needed to go. Taking a left and then a second right he realised he was walking down Tennison Road. This was the way to the park and it just felt right. He wondered briefly if this was what people meant by just following your nose. The saying was obviously not meant to be taken literally, ordinary people didn't have the ability to do so, not even wizards. Well, in saying that, perhaps some wizards did. And perhaps there was a spell that could heighten your senses! If there wasn't, Harry mused, perhaps there should be one.
He made his way down a grassy bank and found himself enveloped in the shade of the tall, bushy trees, trees that lined the gravelled pathway neatly and he smiled softly, he hadn't been here in years. It had always been his favourite park.
Did people make up spells anymore? Of course spells had been made up in the past by the first wizards and witches (or maybe by third or fourth generation wizards and witches, depending on how long it had taken to start refining that special affinity magical folk had with the elements). But whether or not spells had started with an oral tradition earlier on in history or a literary tradition in the form of spellbooks later on, spells and incantations had to have started somewhere. Someone had to have started what was now modern magic.
He fondly recalled the days at St. Grogory's Church of England Primary School and the Headteacher, Mrs. Roemmele, at the start of every assembly had insisted that they thanked The Creator. Some of the teachers would roll their eyes whenever Mrs. Roemmele talked about The Creator, wondering why she had to be so different and not just refer to him as God but Harry felt that she was on to something with that epithet. 'The Creator' left room for argument or discussion, there didn't have to be a God as such, as religion had taught, but merely a creator.
He liked the epithet so much that he extended it to those that were pioneers or originators, like the Four Founders – they were The Creators. And now he had found a new anonymous figure to refer to as The Creator.
So spells, Harry thought, had probably come from The Creator who had managed to master their magical intention and had wanted to teach their craft to their mentee – how else could anyone go about teaching something as pure and deeply personal as intention without first making it more of a tangible concept? It was their desire to pass down a legacy, Harry figured, that had manifested into the art of wand movements and the poetry of spells. His eyes lit up with this thought as he realised that all the spells that he had endeavoured to learn in the past school year had probably been arbitrary! The words didn't really mean anything unless you were able to harness your own intent.
He had been walking in the park for ten minutes now, but there was still no sign of anyone crying.
He kicked at a stone in his pathway and smiled softly as it bounced and rolled until it stopped with a new pile of stone friends. And that surely meant that as long as he harnessed his intent he would be able teach himself spells and make up new things all together. He could be a… spellscrafter? Spellsman. He laughed to himself softly at his own train of thought. He could live with going to a muggle school if he was able to teach himself his own new craft and learn things in his own way. Yes, he decided, he could do that. And as he cleared the trees and came across the old children's playground he saw her. On a lone bench, at which mothers stole curious glances but not approach – they had their own children to watch – was a young girl and she was crying.
He could hear her as clearly as he had done in his room. They were in the park around the corner from Privet Drive. Harry had come here many times in his childhood to escape Dudley's torment play with the other children – this park was mainly filled with the people from the other side of the neighbourhood where the children attended a different school and so were not under Dudley's influence.
Harry joined her on the bench but she didn't seem to notice him. Her head was bowed and buried in her hands. Her shoulders heaved with every sob and Harry really couldn't stand to watch it. He sat there not moving and in silence for a minute, worrying about why he had come or whether he could be of ant help, before he brought himself to speak up.
"Hi."
The girl's head snapped up and her watery eyes were wide, startled to hear a voice so close to her. She sniffed quietly, eyeing him for a moment as she contemplated whether he was a person that she should trust. Her father had often warned her about running away from dodgy characters whenever she was sent to run errands on her own, but she was never quite sure of what a dodgy character looked like. She turned her head away in embarrassment; she hated people seeing her cry. And then at last, she spoke.
"Hello."
Harry watched her as she looked intently at the ground whilst fiddling with a lock of her red hair that had escaped her ponytail.
"What's the matter?" The girl looked up, her brown eyes oozing helplessness. She searched his eyes as if looking for an answer to an unasked question and then her gaze flickered upward. His fringe, mussed from sleep was stubbornly pushed away from his face, standing on end in a dark halo and she gasped in wonder at his scar.
"You're Harry Potter!" Her arms which had been securely fixed around her middle loosened and her hands twitched as though she wished to trace his scar. Her face, flushed from crying, deepened into a darker unmistakably embarrassed blush and her hands fell to her lap, knotted nervously. The display of self-control left Harry relieved yet apprehensive. Was she another one of those fan girls that wanted to touch his scar and fawn over him endlessly? He looked at her in worry.
The fact that she recognised him didn't surprise Harry in the least. She was wearing a set of attractive blue robes with white floral stitching and he realised he recognised her too.
"You're the girl from the train station. Ron's little sister?" The girl looked down and nodded.
"My name is Ginny." She didn't look back up.
"Why aren't you at home?" Apparently that was the wrong question to ask. Ginny's eyes once more filled with tears. She was now gazing up at Harry.
"I– I don't kn-know." She bit back a sob. "One minute I'm in the back-garden shouting at Fred and George for teasing me about," Ginny paused and although Harry had thought it impossible her blush deepened, spreading down her neck. "Um… teasing me about something and the next thing I know, I'm standing in the middle of this park, all alone!" She wailed the last word and Harry winced in sympathy.
"Well you're not alone anymore are you? Come on, we'll go back to my house and we'll wait for my owl to come back from hunting. That way you can send a letter to your parents telling them where you are. Okay?" Harry smiled charmingly, holding out a hand.
Ginny tucked her loose lock behind her ear and with one last sniff she took the offered hand and they both headed towards Privet Drive.
"So Ginny, what's your favourite colour?" Ginny looked at Harry as though he were mad but didn't say anything other than, "Blue, what's yours?"
"Well, one colour doesn't befit my mood all the time, you know? It changes day to day… Brown suits me quite nicely today."
"Why brown?"
"It can be dull but also warm, the colour of the earth. It's life!" He grinned at her coyly and she let out a little laugh. Harry's questioning had somewhat broken the ice and they fired questions back and forth as they made their way to Harry's. Turning the corner onto Privet Drive, Ginny marvelled at how uniform and ordinary the houses all looked, with their perfectly groomed front gardens and freshly painted exteriors. As they advanced down the street she couldn't help but feel a pang of fondness for her own home, as quirky and unique as it was. Her eyes filled with tears once more.
"It's this one." Harry commented softly, noticing that Ginny had gone quiet again and led the way to the front door.
He rang the doorbell and waited impatiently for his Aunt, the sooner he got in he figured the more comfort he could offer the girl at his side. Aunt Petunia answered in a salmon pink cocktail dress that she was fussing with and smoothing down, her lips pursed. She had make-up on, not that it complimented her much, and her hair was in a bun atop of her head. Finally glancing up, realising that Harry hadn't come straight inside, her lips tightened further into a thin line when she saw they had company.
"Harry, you know tonight is extremely important. I don't think that it's appropriate for you to bring a guest unannounced like this, you know that your Uncle won't be happy." Aunt Petunia was eyeing Ginny, more precisely, Ginny's robes distastefully.
"It's alright ma'am, I'll go." Ginny's voice warbled and she started to turn, intimidated by Aunt Petunia's intent stare. Harry grabbed her arm gently to stop her from going anywhere.
"Aunt Petunia, this is Ginny and she's lost! I found her in the park and we can't just leave her out on the street… What would the neighbours think?" Harry posed the question seemingly as an innocent afterthought, although he was inwardly smirking. He knew his Aunt had an acute sense of self-awareness, or rather an awareness that there were always eyes watching on Privet Drive, and for some reason unknown to Harry, she really cared about what they thought. Sighing in defeat Aunt Petunia craned her neck to see if anyone was indeed watching and whispered impatiently for Ginny to take off her muddy shoes: apparently Privet Drive had ears too. Mentally congratulating himself on his quick thinking, Harry grabbed Ginny's shoes and her hand as they were quickly ushered in.
The door shut firmly behind the three of them and taking Ginny's shoes from Harry in a swift motion, Aunt Petunia looked at Ginny appraisingly. "Perhaps," she began, "you could take Ginny up to you room Harry." That was definitely not a suggestion and Harry, not wanting to try his Aunt's patience, started to lead the still teary-eyed girl up the stairs.
It was not until they got to the landing that something occurred to Harry. Leaning over the banister he called to his aunt, who was staring unblinkingly at the space they had vacated just moments before, "Uncle Vernon invited me to the dinner this morning!" That got her attention and her eyes flickered to the girl hovering beside her nephew. "He said that he would rather me at the table where he could keep an eye on me, but Ginny doesn't have anything to wear!"
Aunt Petunia contemplated over the situation for a moment. Even if Vernon had not invited the boy earlier, things had definitely changed now and the girl could not just be left upstairs, hiding away and unfed. That would be discourteous and irresponsible. And if her red hair, freckles and wide brown eyes were to be trusted, she looked like a carbon copy of the Weasley woman that had graced her doorstep earlier this afternoon. And not welcoming her child into the house properly, or neglecting her needs after what had transpired between the families would not be okay at all. The girl could not, under any circumstances, however, wear what she currently donned to this formal dinner.
"I think I have something. Not to worry dear." Harry blanched at the fact that Aunt Petunia was being polite, her tone not exactly warm but definitely accommodating. Gazing at her suspiciously, Harry wondered whether she was actually trying to keep the peace with him after how their conversation had ended earlier. If anything, Harry had learned today that his Aunt was anything but simple and Harry worried that she was manipulating him, that there was a potential duplicity to her thoughts. He swallowed hard and kept the thought that she was trying to stop him being a wizard at the forefront of his mind. Not that you could stop someone from being what they simply were. And definitely not by solely taking away their formal education.
Ginny was face flickered between looking at him expectantly and looking at Aunt Petunia in gratitude. Her soft 'thank you' was met with silence, as Aunt Petunia strode in the kitchen. With a thoughtful frown, Harry turned around to walk into the bedroom, quietly muttering that the bathroom was at the other end of the hall, should Ginny need it.
In three strides, Harry had crossed his room and opened the window, realising that it was a little stuffy. He took in the state of his bedroom, the ink now dried and stained the floor and his bed a rumpled mess. He blew out a sheepish laugh as he spied Ginny glancing around.
"You're a lot neater than my brothers, even Percy actually." She was smiling warmly at him, not unlike how her mum had smiled at him earlier and the realisation of the resemblance between them came to him suddenly. Feeling less self-conscious, Harry chuckled more genuinely and sat on his bed after straightening out the duvet. He motioned for Ginny to sit too.
"You're being terribly nice to me. Why's that?" She was still standing awkwardly, a shy yet, again, an expectant set to her face.
"You can sit down, if you like." Ginny looked at his bed warily and in one fluid motion, summoned the chair at his desk and sat.
Lost for words for a moment, Harry stared wonderingly at her use of not-so accidental magic. Wandless magic. He considered for a moment whether mastering one's intent came more naturally for those who had always been around magic. Magic for Ginny, he figured, was merely a reality. Magic happened as normally as a clock ticked or her brothers fought; magic just was. For him, being introduced to the strange new world was like a fantasy, it shocked him and sometimes the strangeness scared him. But most importantly it was still an alien concept, something he hadn't yet been able to accept into his consciousness as just is. He cleared his throat, "I'm being nice to you because you are a nice person." She crossed her legs, picking at a loose thread on her robes.
"Are you sure?" She was certain he was only doing it because she was Ron's little sister.
"Positive." He grinned at her and she smiled back.
xXx
Aunt Petunia listened to the laughter before entering her nephew's room. They were both lying down on the bed, she at one end and he at another.
"Then before my very eyes, her hair turned an electric blue! Her face was priceless, 'cause although she couldn't see what had happened, everyone was pointing and laughing at her! The class was in chaos and no one would calm down, so she took out a compact mirror from her desk and looked at her reflection. I have never seen anyone go so pale and then so red in a matter of seconds." Harry finished, chuckling. Ginny was giggling softly.
Aunt Petunia cleared her throat, announcing her presence and nearly laughed herself, at the startled expressions they wore. She remembered that day too, Harry had got in a lot of trouble with his Uncle for that display – his teacher had been certain that her nephew was somehow the perpetrator, certain enough to write an angry note home, and of course she had been correct. She had been called in for a parent-teacher meeting with Ms. Johnson and the Headteacher, and although she had been overcome by a panic that they had been caught out – she had been in no position to explain what had happened and poor little Harry had been hunched in a chair in a corner of the room (in tears, because he was adamant that he had done nothing wrong) – Aunt Petunia couldn't help but find hilarity in the incensed woman who's hair now matched her gleaming eyes. It was surprising that Harry held that memory fondly at all, with all the fuss that it had created. That he still looked back on his non-magical schooling, his non-magical upbringing… Lily hadn't.
Aunt Petunia cleared her throat and watched amusedly as Ginny scuttled her way to Harry's chair that had apparently been abandoned for comfort.
"I found this in my wardrobe. It has never been worn, my mother gave it to me for my fourteenth birthday. I couldn't give it away though." She held up a pretty forest green dress. It was plain, but nice enough in its simplicity. "And these I think will fit, they are a size three. If they don't you'll have to go barefoot," Ginny curled her legs right under the chair and scrunched up her dainty feet, embarrassed that Harry was looking. "Which doesn't really matter, we're staying in the house." Even if they didn't fit completely, Ginny was determined that she would wear the little black heels, if not her own scruffy ones – she hated people looking at her feet, as Harry was doing now. Little did Ginny know, her own were out in the garden, drying from the hose down that Aunt Petunia felt compelled to give them. Nothing stayed dirty in that house for long.
"Harry, out. Take your suit and you can get changed in my room. Don't touch anything." Harry obeyed. He heard the door close behind him but didn't mind.
It didn't take very long to get dressed, so he was soon in the bathroom brushing his teeth and finger-combing his untameable hair, desperate for something to do. No-one had told him how messy it had looked and he blushed slightly at having met and entertained Ginny so scruffily. Before long he heard the front door shut.
"Boy! Get down here!" Harry looked at himself in the full-length mirror.
He was appeared awfully thin in these clothes but the black suit was starting to fit better, no longer completely swamping him. He didn't own a tie that wasn't his school one (and all his school things were locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and there they would probably stay Harry realised with a blanch), so the top button was left undone. Even so, he thought he looked pretty decent. Quickly running a hand through his hair once more, he smiled and left the bathroom. Harry heard a soft bang and muffled curse coming from his bedroom and paused, wondering if he should see if Ginny was ok.
"You better not be making me wait!" The veiled threat had Harry bounding down the stairs to his uncle, wanting to keep him in the best mood possible.
"Took you long enough." His Uncle Vernon muttered as he sped into the dining room, eyes roaming over Harry, trying to find something wrong with his appearance. Harry saw his eyes snap to his hair but fortunately didn't say anything on it, knowing it was a lost cause.
"The Masons should be here soon. Now, I want you on your best behaviour, don't speak unless spoken to. Remember, the only reason you're attending this dinner is because you have a knack for getting in trouble and I would rather have you where I can keep my eyes on you." Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes, really his Uncle could sound like a broken record sometimes. "So behave yourself. Your Aunt thinks that it is morally incorrect for you to spend your birthday," Uncle Vernon spat out the word as though a curse, "pretending that you don't exist and you better not prove her wrong, boy. Go and set the table!"
Harry jumped, the harsh order jolting him out of his wonder that Aunt Petunia had actually uttered something in favour for him to her husband. Not realising that Uncle Vernon had not mentioned Ginny, and that this possibly meant that he still did not know about her presence in the house, Harry sauntered off to get the cutlery, leaving Dudley to deal with his father's high-strung nerves.
The amount of times Uncle Vernon had stressed on how 'important, potentially life altering' this dinner was, it was a surprise that the words made sense to anyone anymore.
Seven place-mats, seven knives and forks, seven glasses. That was right. A white table cloth had been put down and the formal atmosphere was particularly apparent. Would it be worse when the guests arrived? Most probably.
"Ah, Petunia, there you are!" Uncle Vernon's booming voice could be heard all over the house. "Do you know- Oh! Hello. You are?" The surprise was plain for everyone to hear and Harry snorted, as there was no-one to hear him. There was a long pause in which Harry had no doubt, that Aunt Petunia was explaining the existence of the young red-head.
"Oh, okay." Uncle Vernon was agreeing with the situation, not that he had much of a choice. 'So that he feels in charge,' Harry quickly realised.
Seven folded red napkins in the glasses. Perfect. He was finished. Looking up at the clock above the stereo, Harry realised that Mr. and Mrs. Mason should have arrived five minutes ago. He grinned to himself. Uncle Vernon must be panicking. Harry glided out of the dining room and flounced up the stairs to his room. He knocked the door before entering.
Ginny was in front of the mirror on the door of his wardrobe, smiling and posing. Harry had to admit that she looked very pretty in her borrowed clothes. The green dress coolly complimented her shock of red hair, which had been tied into a neat knot on the top of her head, as well as her eyes.
"Having fun?" Ginny stopped abruptly. Her face went beet red and it was obvious that she was absolutely mortified that not only had Harry caught her fooling around like that, but he had stood and watched.
"I think we should stay up here until we are called for dinner." Harry took the attention away from her, recognising her discomfort. Ginny nodded and Harry smiled softly to himself as she turned away.
Before long they were sitting beside one another on the bed, talking.
"What's Hogwarts like?" Harry tensed for a moment. Ginny noticed this but didn't think anything of it as he launched into a full description of the castle and all the secret passages he had managed to find. The conversation steered to the sorting.
"Well technically, it's tradition that no-one knows how the sorting ceremony works until they actually go through with it." At Ginny's crushed look Harry gave up. He then told her all that happened apart from the sorting hat.
"They had us first-years assemble at the front of the Great Hall and infront of everyone. A Professor called out our names one by one and obviously with my last name beginning with 'P', I had a lot of people go ahead of me. But this had done nothing to ease my nerves or to make me feel calmer about what was going to take place when it was my turn.
"When my name was called, I swear, my heart stopped but I could still hear my blood rushing in my ears. I wanted to complete the sorting as quickly as possible, I had never before felt so many eyes trained on me at one time, it was strange. It was as though everyone knew exactly who I was and what I should do or where I should be… A very strange feeling.
"The only thing that kept me a little clear headed during the whole sorting was my chanting of 'not Slytherin' in my head. Not because I think that all those in the Slytherin House are evil but because there was a boy – you know of the Malfoys, right? – who's space I definitely did not want to share the next seven years with. And everyone I had talked to seemed to think that the natural place for me would be in Gryffindor, anyway." Harry studied his fingers closely, "And as short a time it had been since I was introduced to the wizarding world, I didn't really want to disappoint."
Ginny was an excellent listener, she soaked up what he was saying with understanding nods and glancing, and hearing his darkening tone, she placed a warm hand on his shoulder in comfort.
"I'm sure Hagrid was sent to collect me on purpose, to be the initial influence on me when it came to relaying the expectations people had on me, in a way dictating what house I was to supposed to be in." There was a short silence and Ginny wondered how exactly the students chose or were chosen to be in a certain house. And from what Harry expressed the added pressure and presumptions of what each house meant for you as a person. Even with all her family having Gryffindors, she had never truly grasped those concepts before. No-one besides Harry had ever really given a nuanced description of what a sorting could be like – everyone skipped over the subject with a knowing glint in their eye as though a description of what it was like would give to much away. Well, having heard Harry's account, she now knew that not to be true; she was still very much in the dark about the ceremony and had a strange sense of anticipation weighing heavily in the pit of her stomach. Or was that just because she was hungry?
"Which do you wish to be? Which House, I mean." Ginny smiled.
"I kind of want Hufflepuff, just to be different. Just to show my family that I don't need to be in Gryffindor to be a Weasley." Harry observed the defiant set of her chin amusedly.
"Somehow I don't think that you have the makings of Hufflepuff, Gin." She blushed slightly at the familiar nickname but didn't say anything. To be on familiar terms with Harry, well she didn't mind that at all. She liked that he was so understanding and that he had been kind to her without a reason. He possessed the qualities that the wizarding world at large thought the Boy-Who-Lived would have but yet, she found that he was nothing like she thought he would be. He was just so plainly and frankly himself, without flair or arrogance and she liked that.
"Ginny! Harry! Come down for dinner please!" Aunt Petunia beckoned from just outside Harry's door. Again they had neither heard her climb the stairs, nor as she had pottered around her bathroom and bedroom nervously adorning herself with jewellery. Harry wondered how much of their conversation she had heard and felt oddly exposed in the honesty he had shared Ginny. Glancing at her, if her blush was anything to go by she probably felt the same. Harry ducked his head and hid a small smile, she was like Ron in that respect – very easy to redden. But it was cute. Aunt Petunia led them down the hallway and the three of them wove into the dining-room quietly.
Uncle Vernon, beads of sweat resting on his forehead – whether from the heat or nervousness, Harry did not know – had just shown Mr and Mrs Mason to their seats, and Dudley's large fists impatiently gripped his knife and fork.
Standing once more, Mr Mason got up to greet Aunt Petunia cordially. "And who's this strapping young man?" Mrs. Mason was smiling at Harry but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "And the young lady?" Though they didn't know them, the couple seemed to some extent, thankful of them being there. The tension eased and the dining-room puffed out a light exhale, a gentle breeze circulating and leaving, courtesy of the open backdoor.
'Perhaps Dudley has dropped the 'hero' line on him and he's more than a little worried. Harry thought as Aunt Petunia introduced them. 'I would be.'
"This is my nephew, Harry and his friend, Ginny." Uncle Vernon was shifting in his seat, trying not to look nervous. Dudley was staring at his mum as if to say, 'where's the food?' His tux was extremely close-fitting and if the top button were any tighter, he'd be blue in the face.
A smile was plastered on Mrs. Masons face.
"Pleased to meet you, dears."
Harry's face broke into an identical fake smile. He and Ginny answered at the same time,
"And you, Mr. and Mrs. Mason." They both took their seats, finding themselves facing Dudley and the Masons. Uncle Vernon was sitting at the head of the table, his face warped into hard expression, a strange mix of a grimace and a grin.
Aunt Petunia finished lining various dishes down the table and sat down for the first time in hours. No-one talked much until Harry broke the silence.
"So Mr. Mason, what exactly is it that you do?" Harry put some salad on Ginny's plate, even though she was trying to politely decline it. She glared at him and he smiled sweetly back. A light conversation then lasted throughout the rest of dinner. Harry didn't speak again, not wanting to spoil anything. That and Uncle Vernon looked at him hard whenever his eyes seemed to waver from his plate. Ginny was paying rapt attention to what was going on but never looking at Dudley. Much to Mrs. Mason's disgust Dudley had finished his third helping of dinner, before anyone had finished their first and was now staring openly at Ginny as though she were a succulent piece of lamb.
When the main course was over, Harry and Ginny helped clear the table.
"Thank you." Aunt Petunia said as he handed her the last plate.
The kitchen was in disarray; quite unlike how Aunt Petunia usually liked it, but Harry guessed that she hadn't had much time to tidy during the day. Juggling a new guest with nothing to wear, Dudley and his ridiculous appetite, Uncle Vernon's constant need of reassurance, and the fiasco of a conversation with Harry about his new school, it was a wonder Aunt Petunia could still be so calm.
"Are you going to serve that for dessert?" Ginny pointed to the masterpiece Aunt Petunia called a cake. Layers upon layers of sponge, cream and jam, a yummy looking thing that would make mouths water… a heart attack on a platter. Even the fresh fruit arranged prettily on top and around the cake was heavily smothered with clear fruit glaze.
"Yes." The response was sharp, but neither Harry nor Ginny took any offence to her tone. One glance at her exhausted eyes told them all they needed to know about her day.
"Is there any ice-cream left?" Harry had taken one look at the cake and decided that he didn't want any. It was not only that he was afraid of having to get multiple fillings in his teeth, but also that Dudley was sure to be a problem. Dudley had always complained that Harry had more than him - when it was rather obvious that Harry's slither was never, could never, be the slightest bit bigger than his – and frankly it got annoying.
Understanding, Aunt Petunia pulled out a tub of ice cream along with the appropriate scooper and a bowl.
"I'd like some too please!" Ginny piped up.
Dessert went superbly, everyone complimenting Aunt Petunia when they learnt that the cake wasn't bought from a bakery like they had originally thought. It was as Uncle Vernon looked as though he was about to close his deal with Mr. Mason that everything went wrong.
They were all sitting in the living room, Harry and Ginny were particularly close, talking quietly and totally oblivious to anything going on around them. Dudley hadn't even tried to communicate with his cousin or the younger guest; it was as if he had already decided it was a lost cause – them trying to get on. That didn't stop him, however, from glancing at Ginny, entranced, it seemed by her quick smile and her beautifully shining red hair. He smiled to himself as he watched her giggle quietly at something Harry had said. He too, was not aware of the adult's conversation. Aunt Petunia smiled softly, playing the perfect wife at this vital moment. She held her husband's hand encouragingly and felt him squeeze hers.
"I'm very glad you could make it tonight Mr. Mason." Uncle Vernon began, his voice not faltering for the first time that evening. "My company has appointed me as representative for the department of…" and Uncle Vernon did not get any further than that. His mouth wide open, the words stuck in his throat as he watched in horror a scene so dreadfully imperfect unfold before him. Facing the open window, he saw that ruddy bird advancing before anyone had an inkling of what was happening. Why wasn't it closed? He took a moment to send a prayer, to make a wish, whatever you wanted to call it, just hoping wasn't enough; he couldn't afford for the Masons to be people that did not like wildlife. And slowly, all occupants of the living room at number four Privet Drive, turned towards the window to see what had made the usually boisterous, red faced Vernon Dursley turn such a sickly complexion.
Hedwig chose to fly through the open window, much to Uncle Vernon's chagrin, and landed on the arm of the sofa, right next to Mrs. Mason. There was a ten second delay in which Mrs. Mason sat and stared at the owl, Hedwig staring back. She then screamed and ran out of the room. Uncle Vernon closed his eyes in defeat and quietly mourned the lost deal. Mr. Mason was not far behind her, shouting back at everyone that she had a 'phobia of all birds'.
Harry watched his Uncle breathe in and out a couple of times. Uncle Vernon then snapped open his eyes and stared at his nephew. He knew Harry was not to blame but he needed a release. Besides, hardly anything he did fazed the boy anymore.
Uncle Vernon exploded, but quietly, in case the Masons were still within hearing distance.
"The owl is never to come through the living-room window. In fact, if I see that owl again, it'll be dinner for the foxes, got that?" He was growling dangerously, his moustache quivering. Ginny was sitting up stiffly, her eyes wide and weary of Uncle Vernon.
"Here girl." Harry called softly, paying no mind to his uncle, used to his threats. Hedwig flew over and hooted happily as Harry stroked her gently. Ginny relaxed when she saw Harry wasn't the least bit worried about his uncle.
"She's beautiful." Ginny cooed, stroking her soft feathers. Hedwig was basking under the attention. "What's her name?"
"Hedwig." Harry heard Ginny murmur 'beautiful' again and smiled softly. "We'll send a letter to your parents first thing tomorrow, she looks a little tired." Ginny nodded in agreement.
Tomorrow would be fine.