Many cuts and bruises later, Aunt Petunia finally gave Harry his reprieve
from gardening. Or at least, she told Uncle Vernon to give him his
reprieve.
"Boy!" Uncle Vernon bellowed from the house. "Your aunt wants you to get inside and clean yourself up! It's Dinner time!"
Harry happily threw the weed he was holding across the law and unto the street. Harry could've cared less if they actually fed him or not. He didn't have to spend another minute gardening, and that was good enough.
He walked inside and made a beeline straight for the stairs.
"I think I'll skip dinner. I'm really not that hungry." Harry said rather rapidly as he scaled the stairs. He was clear past the top step when he could hear Uncle Vernon's response.
"You will not be skipping dinner!" He bellowed.
The next voice was Aunt Petunia's and it sounded equally stern. "We have guests coming and it would extremely ill-mannered if you skip dinner. Quickly clean yourself up and come back down. They will be here very soon."
Harry walked backward and descended down the stairwell until he was on middle step.
"But, Aunt Petunia." Harry looked at his hands, the cuts and bruises still sore from the rather punishing work. "I'm tired. Can't I just skip dinner?"
"No." It was Aunt Petunia's end of argument voice. If he didn't comply, there would be serious consequences. Maybe some more gardening. Harry shuddered at the thought. "Okay," Harry sighed. "I'll be ready."
Harry walked up stairs and into the bathroom, his feet walking one step every second. His hands may have been damaged during the yard work, but his feet were in perfect condition. Harry was intentionally dragging his feet behind him. After all he was in no particular hurry. He may have agreed to the little dinner, but he was in no hurry to go back downstairs and join the 'family'.
He ran the water over his hands. The water felt cool and soothing against his skin as it washed away the wet and dry blood marks on his hands. He picked up the bottle of antiseptic from the medicine drawer, but put it back.
His sensible side told him he had to clean the cuts or else there was a chance it might get infected. However, the irrational side of him told him it would be painful and would sting horribly; making him remember the last time 'he' used the stuff.
Harry scrapped his knee rather horribly when he was six. It was so long ago that he forgot the reason why, but he did remember what happened afterward. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia dragged him upstairs and, despite his screams and tears, they dunked his knee into a sink full of blue antiseptic. It was a traumatic experience to say the least.
"No, no, and hell no." Harry said to himself as he put the clear blue plastic bottle down. Instead of disinfecting his wounds, he settled for bandages.
He then reached for his razor, and started to shave the stubble of hair growing on his chin and upper lip. He winced in pain as he felt the razor cut him right below the chin.
"Damn it!" Harry cursed to himself. He tore a piece of toilet paper, wet it, and dabbed it on the wound.
He wasn't really experienced in shaving, and only started to shave right before the Yule Ball. It wasn't really to make him himself look more attractive. Shaving was for his piece of mind.
If his head of hair could grow so thick and out of control, he shuddered to think would happen if he let his facial hair grow. He would probably end up the new Gryffindor mascot.
"Harry Potter, the Gryffindor Lion." Harry imagined his face, a full blown out goatee, one as wild as his hair, on one of the many banners Dean drew for Gryffindor Quidditch matches. "That's another hell no." He picked up the razor and went over the few stubborn patches that remained.
His hand wiped at his chin, satisfied with the job. "Smooth enough."
Grabbing a towel off the rack, Harry dried his face, swiped the excess water off the sink top, put the same towel back unto the rack and walked outside the bathroom.
He could hear already hear Aunt Petunia's high-pitched laughter coming from downstairs. "Arabella, its so good to see you!"
The next voice was loud, but wasn't nearly as annoying. "Petunia, its great to see you to. I brought company." He assumed that was Ms. Figg.
"Oh, hello dear. Oh my, she is so refined. You can just tell she was brought up right." Harry frowned. He couldn't hear the voice of the female who was now talking to Aunt Petunia.
Even though he couldn't hear the third person, he could still hear Aunt Petunia's obnoxiously loud voice. "Would you like to met my son Dudley? He is a wonderful boy. I'm sure you two will get along splendidly."
Next came Uncle Vernon's yell. "Boy! Are you finished yet?"
Harry did not need a reminder. He hurried to his room, flipped open his trunk, and pulled the first pair of clothes he found. Normally, hasty decisions regarding clothing would often yield ugly and miss-matched colored clothes, but not this time.
He had withdrawn a dark green wool sweater, and matching black dress slacks. The green sweater, although not matching his eye color, complemented them very nicely. And matching black slacks went with almost anything.
Harry slipped into clothes as quickly as possible, exited the room, and started clamoring down the stairs. Halfway down, he stepped unto a splinter, making it painfully obvious he was barefoot.
He hopped back up stairs, flopped unto the bed, and removed the splinter. Not quickly forgetting the sting of the splinter, he went over to the trunk and dutifully searched for a pair of socks and shoes. He found socks easily enough, but couldn't for the life of him find his shoes.
Instead of spending more time looking for the proper dress shoes, he slipped on the sneakers he had used earlier. He didn't really care how unseemly he looked; his shoes would be hidden underneath the table most of night anyway.
As Harry descended down the stairs, he glimpsed at the living room; it was empty. He made his way to the kitchen figuring everyone was already eating.
As he pushed open the swinging the door, he found something, or rather someone unexpected.
"Pansy!?"
"Hello, Harry. Such a surprise to see you here." Pansy greeted. She had an infuriating smug smile on her face.
"What are you-" Harry didn't have a chance to belt out the question before Uncle Vernon interrupted him.
"How do you know the boy?" He was suspicious to say the least. No one knew, besides immediate family and Arabella, of Harry's existence. If the girl knew who he was then, she must be just like him. A freak.
"I saw him weeding the lawn earlier. Thought he was a hired hand of sorts. I said hello, and introduced myself. Just surprised I suppose. Didn't figure the garden boy would be joining the dinner." The lie rolled off of Pansy's tongue like silk. It figured; she was in Slytherin after all.
Uncle Vernon bought the excuse and smiled at her. The tiny jab she took at Harry put Pansy smack dab in Uncle Vernon's good graces. Most likely it impressed all the Drusely's to.
Ms. Figg got out of her seat (she was sitting next to Pansy), and move over one spot. She patted at the now empty seat. "Sit."
As Harry took a seat he fully planned to blow Pansy's identity out of the water. If he had to suffer for having magic, she should to.
Before Harry could open his mouth to speak, Ms. Figg quietly whispered, "Please don't say that Pansy is a witch."
Harry thought about the request for a second.
Nope, Harry decided on tattling. He didn't really know Ms. Figg and he certainly didn't know or like Pansy. Why should he keep it a secret?
He opened his mouth to speak, but he Ms. Figg whisper again. "Dumbledore asks that you don't."
His mouth shut at the mention of Dumbledore.
The rest of dinner went rather horribly afterward. Pansy was milking the situation for all it was worth. She was ridiculously flirting with Dudley, batting her eyelashes, and stroking his arm, all in an effort to try to get information out of him.
It was working to.
With or without the flirting, Dudley was more than willing to spread some rather embarrassing stories about Harry.
Dudley was soaking up all the attention. "Did you know, Harry had always wet his bed daily until he was eight years old."
Pansy was proud she was able to keep her laugh down to a snicker.
"It was only a few times and I stopped when I was five!" Harry said in his defense.
Dudley rolled his eyes at him. "Sure Harry, I believe you." He said sarcastically, before he started talking to Pansy again. "He said he stopped, but I don't believe him. We were ten at the time, I believe." Pansy nodded along, urging him to continue. "When mum was doing the laundry, she said she could've sworn she saw a big yellow mark on his bed sheets"
Pansy struggled to hold back the peels of laughter that was threatening to escape her lips. The great Harry Potter, a bed wetter, it was too much.
"It was a juice! I had spilled juice on the sheets!" Harry yelled indignantly.
This time Aunt Petunia joined into the conversation. "Are you sure it was juice? I know what juice stains look like, and that was much too dark to be juice."
Harry stood up from his chair. "I AM NOT A BED-" He yelled at Aunt Petunia, before Uncle Vernon stepped in.
"Boy," Uncle Vernon voice came out as a low growl. "You will dare not yell at your Aunt Petunia like that if you know what is good for you!"
Harry weighed his options out in his head. He got in trouble last year for injuring Aunt Marge, and he came out hedge maze alive while Cedric died. The ministry could put up with a lot, but it would be a bit much if he added exploding guardian unto the list.
Harry sat down in a huff. He had obviously been delirious with pain when he had his conversation with Pansy, because there was no way that she could be nice. 'Nice Pansy, my ass.' Harry thought as he endured rest of dinner with the Drusley's.
"Boy!" Uncle Vernon bellowed from the house. "Your aunt wants you to get inside and clean yourself up! It's Dinner time!"
Harry happily threw the weed he was holding across the law and unto the street. Harry could've cared less if they actually fed him or not. He didn't have to spend another minute gardening, and that was good enough.
He walked inside and made a beeline straight for the stairs.
"I think I'll skip dinner. I'm really not that hungry." Harry said rather rapidly as he scaled the stairs. He was clear past the top step when he could hear Uncle Vernon's response.
"You will not be skipping dinner!" He bellowed.
The next voice was Aunt Petunia's and it sounded equally stern. "We have guests coming and it would extremely ill-mannered if you skip dinner. Quickly clean yourself up and come back down. They will be here very soon."
Harry walked backward and descended down the stairwell until he was on middle step.
"But, Aunt Petunia." Harry looked at his hands, the cuts and bruises still sore from the rather punishing work. "I'm tired. Can't I just skip dinner?"
"No." It was Aunt Petunia's end of argument voice. If he didn't comply, there would be serious consequences. Maybe some more gardening. Harry shuddered at the thought. "Okay," Harry sighed. "I'll be ready."
Harry walked up stairs and into the bathroom, his feet walking one step every second. His hands may have been damaged during the yard work, but his feet were in perfect condition. Harry was intentionally dragging his feet behind him. After all he was in no particular hurry. He may have agreed to the little dinner, but he was in no hurry to go back downstairs and join the 'family'.
He ran the water over his hands. The water felt cool and soothing against his skin as it washed away the wet and dry blood marks on his hands. He picked up the bottle of antiseptic from the medicine drawer, but put it back.
His sensible side told him he had to clean the cuts or else there was a chance it might get infected. However, the irrational side of him told him it would be painful and would sting horribly; making him remember the last time 'he' used the stuff.
Harry scrapped his knee rather horribly when he was six. It was so long ago that he forgot the reason why, but he did remember what happened afterward. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia dragged him upstairs and, despite his screams and tears, they dunked his knee into a sink full of blue antiseptic. It was a traumatic experience to say the least.
"No, no, and hell no." Harry said to himself as he put the clear blue plastic bottle down. Instead of disinfecting his wounds, he settled for bandages.
He then reached for his razor, and started to shave the stubble of hair growing on his chin and upper lip. He winced in pain as he felt the razor cut him right below the chin.
"Damn it!" Harry cursed to himself. He tore a piece of toilet paper, wet it, and dabbed it on the wound.
He wasn't really experienced in shaving, and only started to shave right before the Yule Ball. It wasn't really to make him himself look more attractive. Shaving was for his piece of mind.
If his head of hair could grow so thick and out of control, he shuddered to think would happen if he let his facial hair grow. He would probably end up the new Gryffindor mascot.
"Harry Potter, the Gryffindor Lion." Harry imagined his face, a full blown out goatee, one as wild as his hair, on one of the many banners Dean drew for Gryffindor Quidditch matches. "That's another hell no." He picked up the razor and went over the few stubborn patches that remained.
His hand wiped at his chin, satisfied with the job. "Smooth enough."
Grabbing a towel off the rack, Harry dried his face, swiped the excess water off the sink top, put the same towel back unto the rack and walked outside the bathroom.
He could hear already hear Aunt Petunia's high-pitched laughter coming from downstairs. "Arabella, its so good to see you!"
The next voice was loud, but wasn't nearly as annoying. "Petunia, its great to see you to. I brought company." He assumed that was Ms. Figg.
"Oh, hello dear. Oh my, she is so refined. You can just tell she was brought up right." Harry frowned. He couldn't hear the voice of the female who was now talking to Aunt Petunia.
Even though he couldn't hear the third person, he could still hear Aunt Petunia's obnoxiously loud voice. "Would you like to met my son Dudley? He is a wonderful boy. I'm sure you two will get along splendidly."
Next came Uncle Vernon's yell. "Boy! Are you finished yet?"
Harry did not need a reminder. He hurried to his room, flipped open his trunk, and pulled the first pair of clothes he found. Normally, hasty decisions regarding clothing would often yield ugly and miss-matched colored clothes, but not this time.
He had withdrawn a dark green wool sweater, and matching black dress slacks. The green sweater, although not matching his eye color, complemented them very nicely. And matching black slacks went with almost anything.
Harry slipped into clothes as quickly as possible, exited the room, and started clamoring down the stairs. Halfway down, he stepped unto a splinter, making it painfully obvious he was barefoot.
He hopped back up stairs, flopped unto the bed, and removed the splinter. Not quickly forgetting the sting of the splinter, he went over to the trunk and dutifully searched for a pair of socks and shoes. He found socks easily enough, but couldn't for the life of him find his shoes.
Instead of spending more time looking for the proper dress shoes, he slipped on the sneakers he had used earlier. He didn't really care how unseemly he looked; his shoes would be hidden underneath the table most of night anyway.
As Harry descended down the stairs, he glimpsed at the living room; it was empty. He made his way to the kitchen figuring everyone was already eating.
As he pushed open the swinging the door, he found something, or rather someone unexpected.
"Pansy!?"
"Hello, Harry. Such a surprise to see you here." Pansy greeted. She had an infuriating smug smile on her face.
"What are you-" Harry didn't have a chance to belt out the question before Uncle Vernon interrupted him.
"How do you know the boy?" He was suspicious to say the least. No one knew, besides immediate family and Arabella, of Harry's existence. If the girl knew who he was then, she must be just like him. A freak.
"I saw him weeding the lawn earlier. Thought he was a hired hand of sorts. I said hello, and introduced myself. Just surprised I suppose. Didn't figure the garden boy would be joining the dinner." The lie rolled off of Pansy's tongue like silk. It figured; she was in Slytherin after all.
Uncle Vernon bought the excuse and smiled at her. The tiny jab she took at Harry put Pansy smack dab in Uncle Vernon's good graces. Most likely it impressed all the Drusely's to.
Ms. Figg got out of her seat (she was sitting next to Pansy), and move over one spot. She patted at the now empty seat. "Sit."
As Harry took a seat he fully planned to blow Pansy's identity out of the water. If he had to suffer for having magic, she should to.
Before Harry could open his mouth to speak, Ms. Figg quietly whispered, "Please don't say that Pansy is a witch."
Harry thought about the request for a second.
Nope, Harry decided on tattling. He didn't really know Ms. Figg and he certainly didn't know or like Pansy. Why should he keep it a secret?
He opened his mouth to speak, but he Ms. Figg whisper again. "Dumbledore asks that you don't."
His mouth shut at the mention of Dumbledore.
The rest of dinner went rather horribly afterward. Pansy was milking the situation for all it was worth. She was ridiculously flirting with Dudley, batting her eyelashes, and stroking his arm, all in an effort to try to get information out of him.
It was working to.
With or without the flirting, Dudley was more than willing to spread some rather embarrassing stories about Harry.
Dudley was soaking up all the attention. "Did you know, Harry had always wet his bed daily until he was eight years old."
Pansy was proud she was able to keep her laugh down to a snicker.
"It was only a few times and I stopped when I was five!" Harry said in his defense.
Dudley rolled his eyes at him. "Sure Harry, I believe you." He said sarcastically, before he started talking to Pansy again. "He said he stopped, but I don't believe him. We were ten at the time, I believe." Pansy nodded along, urging him to continue. "When mum was doing the laundry, she said she could've sworn she saw a big yellow mark on his bed sheets"
Pansy struggled to hold back the peels of laughter that was threatening to escape her lips. The great Harry Potter, a bed wetter, it was too much.
"It was a juice! I had spilled juice on the sheets!" Harry yelled indignantly.
This time Aunt Petunia joined into the conversation. "Are you sure it was juice? I know what juice stains look like, and that was much too dark to be juice."
Harry stood up from his chair. "I AM NOT A BED-" He yelled at Aunt Petunia, before Uncle Vernon stepped in.
"Boy," Uncle Vernon voice came out as a low growl. "You will dare not yell at your Aunt Petunia like that if you know what is good for you!"
Harry weighed his options out in his head. He got in trouble last year for injuring Aunt Marge, and he came out hedge maze alive while Cedric died. The ministry could put up with a lot, but it would be a bit much if he added exploding guardian unto the list.
Harry sat down in a huff. He had obviously been delirious with pain when he had his conversation with Pansy, because there was no way that she could be nice. 'Nice Pansy, my ass.' Harry thought as he endured rest of dinner with the Drusley's.