Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling. In addition, in this chapter, there are some words taken direct from the book 'Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.'

Chapter 6:

It was eerily quiet when Harry returned to the Dursley home. There was a note for Dudley, 'Your father has had a heart attack. I am with him at St. Ursula's Private Hospital. Meantime, you are to look after yourself, or go to Mrs. Polkiss if I am not home by tonight.' There was no mention of Harry.

So Harry put away his purchases, tidied his own room, and then checked his list of jobs for the next on the list, 'Ensure the bathroom is immaculate, and scrub the grouting between tiles in the shower.'

He was thinking longingly of a quick 'Scourgify' when he heard Dudley come in, and almost immediately, the telephone rang and he paused in his work and tried to listen as Dudley answered it. There was no alarm in the voice, though he could not hear the words, and then Dudley called, "Potter, you here?"

Harry called back, "I'm here," and went down the stairs. "Hi, Dud."

Dudley was civil. "Dad's had a heart attack. Mum says he's going to be okay."

"That's good. I guess I can make dinner when you're ready."

"Can I have a snack now?"

"I guess. Biscuits in the pantry, you know where."

Dudley looked at him a moment, and then disappeared. He had obviously expected to be served a nice snack as his mum always did when he arrived home and claimed to be hungry.

Petunia arrived home not long before the usual time for dinner. She was quiet, abstracted, obviously worried. But, unusually, she thanked Harry when she found him halfway through preparing a meal for the three of them. She didn't suggest he eat with them, though, and Harry had his meal in the kitchen, as he always did these days.

She left early the next day, taking Dudley with her. There was only one car, so there was a taxi to the train station, but several hours later, she drove Vernon's car and parked it very carefully in the garage, taking great care not to risk scratches. Vernon was proudly possessive of the car, and since her marriage, Petunia had seldom driven.

Three days later, she suddenly said irritably, "You should sit with us for meals, Harry. You are a member of the family, not some uninvited guest."

Harry concealed his utter surprise, and that evening, he set the table for three, not two, and tried to make helpful observations when Petunia spoke of a change in lifestyle for 'her men,' she said, including Dudley, a tactic which was an obvious attempt to limit the inevitable objections.

The next day, packets of cereal appeared in the pantry, and when the bacon ran out, it was not replaced. Dudley made no objection, maybe even remembering what Harry had told him about Voldemort especially enjoying fat Muggle boys. When Petunia ordered, he started serving himself breakfast from what was available, bread, cereal, fruit. No bacon, though there were eggs if he could be bothered to cook one for himself.

Harry now routinely ate with them, as if he really was a member of the family. Vernon was said to be doing well, though Petunia said there were times when he seemed confused. 'Just a side-effect of the heart attack and nothing to worry about,' she said. Harry had his fingers crossed - how would he be when he returned?

On the 30th July, the day before his birthday, Petunia brought her husband home, herself driving, Vernon beside her, looking subdued, as Harry had never seen him. He was not supposed to drive for the time being, Petunia explained, and was not to return to work for another fortnight.

For years on that particular day, Harry had kept himself awake until midnight, his own special birthday celebration since there was nothing to look forward to from his family. But his life with his family was a lot less bleak than it had been before his resolve to cease cringing before the bullies, and especially before the intervention by the Ministry of Magic. He did not keep himself awake for his own whispered 'Happy birthday, Harry,' and was sound asleep long before midnight.

It was still a surprise when he was presented with a gift from his uncle and aunt, not a nasty trick present, but a real present, a new backpack, just what he needed. There was even something from Dudley, a large block of chocolate, but the motive there was obvious. Chocolate was off the menu for both Vernon and Dudley, and he was hoping for a share. So Harry shared, joining the rest of the family in the lounge-room instead of retiring to his room, and making the tea and then handing around the chocolates with the pieces of sliced melon that had taken the place of the generous portions of puddings that had been the standard dessert for as long as Harry remembered.

Vernon grunted when he was handed his share, but quickly consumed the chocolate, though not without a guilty glance at his wife. Vernon had had a thorough scare, and it would take him a while before he felt confident in his health and strength again.

xxx

Arthur Weasley had been out working overnight, but returned home at breakfast time. He was sounding very weary. "What a night," he said. "Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned..." Arthur Weasley worked in the 'Misuse of Muggle Artefacts' office, though he had never before taken part in anything like this - making unannounced raids to search for prohibited objects. The idea had come direct from the First Assistant to the Minister, one Stacey Hopkirk, who'd been appointed for her looks and willingness to flatter, rather than on merit.

The raids should have been the responsibility of a Senior Auror, but it was pushed down the line to Auror Sue Vanstone, who'd only been qualified for a few years. She was not in a position to decline the job, but few of the targeted wizards were as insignificant as Mundungus Fletcher, and several had real influence. Offending them would be a career-limiting move, and that was why she had asked permission to include Arthur Weasley for his expertise in the field. And when the raids commenced, she'd been very happy to allow Weasley to appear to be in charge. Sue Vanstone was not silly! There would be repercussions, though at least no-one had been rash enough to suggest raids on the really powerful families such as the Malfoys. Only fools took on the Malfoys.

Two days later, Lucius Malfoy was at a social gathering, just a few of his close friends from their Death Eater days. No women were present. They briefly discussed the rumours that the Dark Lord had been close, but only in spirit form. There was no new information, and none of them suggested any type of search for him.

And then Francis Ryan said, "A friend of mine had a midnight visit from that blood traitor, Weasley. He confiscated a Blood Quill that's been in his family for generations."

Avery laughed, "Only occasionally used to sign official documents, no doubt?"

Ryan smiled, but said, "Well, of course!"

"Well, the Ministry has it now. I wonder if it will be destroyed or kept."

Alexander Nott put in, "I knew someone as well. They found nothing, but terrified his family. Weasley needs to be taught a lesson."

Another said, "I know how, if you want. Remember Peter Pettigrew? A rat animagus. He acted like a rat, too, always in the shadows and terrified whenever anyone even noticed him. He's been in hiding as a rat ever since the defeat. And I strongly suspect that the rat is currently the pet of the youngest Weasley boy."

Malfoy leaned forward, "How sure are you, Wilfred?"

"Not sure enough for me to say anything myself." Wilfred Rollings was an auror, with the mark of a Death Eater small and inconspicuous on the back of his shoulder rather than blatant on his forearm.

Malfoy said, "So what about giving the hint to someone reckless enough to make the raid? That will put an end to unwarranted interference. Especially if you are right."

Rollings laughed, "I can probably manage that."

Three days later, it was the Weasley family who was woken in the middle of the night, a rat was revealed, and Peter Pettigrew was apprehended. Auror John Dawlish became Senior Auror John Dawlish. This time, his tendency to recklessness had paid off, though his willingness to take the risk was partly because he had always despised Arthur Weasley.

Arthur Weasley was told that he was not in trouble for harbouring a Death Eater, but a few days later, there was a rearrangement in the Ministry, some of his named responsibilities were moved to a different department, his staff was reduced to just one, and since there was no longer a need for a large office, the much diminished 'department' was moved to a room little bigger than a broom cupboard. He considered himself lucky not to have had a drop in pay. His ebullience was reduced.

Harry heard about it in a letter, events according to Ron Weasley, who was upset that his pet had been taken and totally refused to believe that he could possibly have been a human, even when it was pointed out that no ordinary rat would have lived so long. Scabbers had been Percy's pet before he was Ron's, though Percy couldn't quite remember how he had first acquired the rat.

The letter was carried by the Weasley owl, Errol, old, clumsy and always scruffy. 'Errol's mine now,' wrote Ron, 'It's to make up for poor Scabbers. And Mum bought a new owl for everyone else to use.'

Harry made a fuss of Errol, and told him not to hurry home, and used Hedwig for the return letter . Poor Errol looked on the point of expiry, though he knew from Ron that he'd looked like that for years. He hoped he would make it home.

xxx

Things were going well for Harry. He felt as if he was almost a part of the family, as he'd never felt before. He still methodically worked his way through the list of jobs, but no-one criticised or gave him more jobs to do, and he was even thanked a few times. And he went out when he chose, not buying himself luxury goods, but for the first time in his remembered life, he had sufficient clothing, of the right size and of reasonable quality. He had easier access to his money as well, with a large amount transferred to a Muggle Bank, a Visa card to access that, plus another card that looked very similar, but accessed his Gringotts account. It could be used exactly the same as a Muggle Visa card. And he grinned whenever he thought of how Dumbledore would regard that sort of independence!

There was another letter from Hermione, who had obviously guessed that his home life was far from ideal, even when he had so seldom spoken of it. He replied, as would be expected, but said nothing at all about his changes of circumstances. He was still bent on keeping that as quiet as possible. Another short letter from Ron, which he appreciated for the effort involved, also one from Neville, which pleased him. Why were Ron and Hermione his only companions? He liked Neville, and maybe Neville felt as shy as he did about making friends. He resolved to spend more time with him this coming year, Dean and Seamus as well. And why did they all socialise only among their own House? He scarcely knew even the names of those in other Houses. Only five boys in his year in his House. He should make attempts to know the fifteen or so in the other Houses.

The list of requirements for Year 2 arrived, and he competently negotiated his way through Diagon Alley, packing his purchases into his new backpack.

And then, to his surprise, there was the belated reply from Perenelle Flamel, though his most urgent questions had already been answered - that behaviour could be influenced by magic and that people could be made to forget. He smiled as he read that the lady agreed that the story of his mother's love somehow protecting him against Quirrell was 'baloney,' and he had to think about whether he might be developing into an 'unusually powerful wizard,' also that the Ministry could not monitor magic without a wand. He would definitely try that. Still on his list of jobs was to clean the cupboard under the stairs, his old sleeping place. He'd been putting that one off. There were some very bad memories attached to that cupboard, and he shook his head when he remembered a particular time, bruised and battered, locked in for three days without even water. It might be alright now, but the Dursleys really had treated him badly. And Perenelle Flamel had confirmed that he should not trust Dumbledore - not that he needed confirmation.

He set down to write a reply, which took a while, sent it off with Hedwig, and then started on his second last job, to do a thorough dusting and cleaning of the attic. He'd done that not long before he'd left for Hogwarts for the first time, so it would not be too big a job - a couple of hours maybe. He armed himself with supplies, and climbed the little ladder that took him into the attic.

xxx

The last job, the cupboard beneath the stairs, his 'bedroom' through most of his childhood.

Except for a bit more dust, it looked exactly the same as that day a bit over a year ago, when he had abruptly been allocated the smallest bedroom. There were spiders, as there always had been. There were some bottles of cleaning solution, though none had been touched for years. Could Petunia have a guilty conscience about this little area? Everywhere else in the house was kept tidy, but this was a mess. He pointed his finger at the small, stained mattress and tried to vanish it. He knew the word, 'Evanesco.' But the mattress remained, and he finally manoeuvred it awkwardly out the door, and then out of the house onto the back lawn for disposal. Vernon watched him, a blank look on his face. There were no offers of help.

There was more rubbish to remove, the ragged, half size blankets, a few broken toys, and quite a lot of books written for beginning readers. He fingered his wand before pushing himself right inside the cupboard. Just being here was making him feel sick, and he couldn't escape from the feeling he might be locked in. He reminded himself of the unlocking spell that Hermione had used. They could not keep him here now, not when he had his wand and would use it.

And then he saw the little drawing, done long ago, 'Harry's Room,' in the awkward letters of a six-year-old. And he jerked himself right out of that confining space, hurried to the bathroom and was very ill. This was what his aunt and uncle had done to him. But more, this was what Dumbledore had done to him. Just because they were treating him okay now, he should not forget.

When he returned to the task, he stood at the doorway and pointed his finger, put all his feeling behind it, and whispered 'Scourgify.' The little room was suddenly aflame, and he looked on in alarm, not even going for the fire extinguisher. But then the flames were gone, leaving a bare little area, singed black but perfectly clean. He firmly shut the door on it. It was a job done, but he still felt ill, didn't want to be anywhere near that house for a while, took his wallet, and cleared out for the day.

Even when night came, he was not ready to return, though he did phone and say he'd be back the day after. Petunia was polite, as if to a stranger, but did tell him there were two letters arrive for him, one by ordinary mail, one by owl. He thanked her, polite, but to a stranger. That little room under the stairs had been a bitter reminder. He should not think that No. 4 Privet Drive could ever really be a home for him.

One of the wards that protected his home, dropped, the strongest ward, the one based on blood magic that only worked for the place he regarded as home. There was an indicator in Dumbledore's office that would have told him if that happened, but Dumbledore was in Europe for a few days.

Harry wandered a long time that night, even through some of the seediest parts of London, where prostitutes lounged, waiting for customers. Harry thought he knew why they were there, there had been some basic sex education in primary school, but there were a few boys as well. Harry didn't know why they were there. No home to go to, he guessed.

It was well after midnight before he started looking for a room for the night, and his choice seemed to be between a place that looked far from respectable, with a lot of comings and goings, and the sort of expensive hotel that had a 24 hour reception. He found an unexpected difficulty when the Hotel receptionist was reluctant to allow him a room, wanting to know why he was all alone. But he produced his credit card, and the woman checked it, still looking doubtful, and finally relented when he looked out at the night, and said, "I think it's too dangerous out there now for me. And it's too late to go home."

"You have a home then?"

"I guess," he said reluctantly. "I'll return tomorrow, in the morning. They won't care if I'm away tonight."

For the price paid, it was quite a small room, but there was all that he needed, and he was tired enough that he did not lie awake, only deciding to find out just how bad orphanages actually were. His aunt had told him they were dreadful places and he should be grateful that he was allowed to stay with them. Even then, he had wondered. Surely they could not be as bad as Oliver Twist had known. This was the twentieth century.

He slept late the next morning, being woken by the cleaner, lucky not to be charged for the extra time he had occupied that little room. The train trip home, and then the long trudge from the station to the house.

When he finally arrived back at the house, he made himself a couple of generously filled sandwiches even before going up to his bedroom and looking at the two letters left on the little desk. The first was bad news.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that a cleaning charm was used at your place of residence at twelve minutes past eleven today. (Yesterday now, he realised.)

As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school. (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C.)

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity which risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offence, under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays!

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk,

Improper Use of Magic Office,

Ministry of Magic.

'Magical activity which risks notice,' etc. And he just bet that it came by owl, and the Dursleys loathed owls. They were guilty of the self same crime that they'd accused him of. And 'Enjoy your holidays.' Was she being ironic or stupid?

So Mrs. Flamel had been wrong - magic without a wand had not been supposed to get him into trouble, and now, if he did it again, he could be expelled! Surely that was far too severe a punishment for a small mistake.

And then the second letter worried him even more. He was to attend a meeting at the Ministry of Magic to discuss his 'circumstances.' At least this one had come by ordinary mail. Maybe someone had thought that Muggles might not appreciate owls swooping in through open windows, and he remembered his uncle's panic when those first owls had started appearing. It no longer seemed at all funny. His uncle had been very badly treated by Albus Dumbledore, the wise old wizard revered by most of wizardkind.

He looked again at the second letter. Tomorrow, 10 am. His legs were still tired from all that walking, but he supposed they'd be better by tomorrow.

There were no jobs left on his list, and he noted, with surprise, that the mattress and other rubbish had disappeared from the back lawn. He said nothing, and neither did any other of his family, not even Dudley, who'd been avoiding him. Poor Dudley. He'd been badly affected by magic as well. That tail that Hagrid had inflicted... How could he have been so heartless as to laugh? He'd had to have an operation to remove it. That had been a wicked thing to do to a kid. And Dud hadn't been accustomed to going hungry, as he was. All they'd had to eat was a few crisps that night, and it had been so cold. He perfectly understood if he'd been grabbing some cake. It was not such a terrible crime.

They had both been just eleven then. And now he was twelve. He felt so much older now. Not just the year in the wizarding world, but even more, after he'd come to understand that Dumbledore was so far from the good guy. And he remembered a quote from somewhere - 'that one can smile and smile and be a villain.' He probably had the quote wrong, but he perfectly understood its truth. Dumbledore spinning his yarns about Voldemort, deliberately to scare a child - he still didn't know why.

Wearily, he rose and went to mow the lawn. There was no point alienating his relatives at this stage.

xxx