Back at Privet Drive, Vernon Dursley paced back and forth in the lounge, wavering between anger and fear. He was so tense that he even snapped at his beloved Dudley, something he never did, when Dudley prattled on too long at the dinner table about the latest child he beat up at school.
He was angry that Harry -- apparently with Reader's connivance -- had escaped him. He was angry that his folder on Reader had gone missing. And he was afraid, deeply and thoroughly afraid, that Harry and Reader were not only working together, but that they would, together, come back to Privet Drive and inflict far worse injury. Assuming, of course, that Harry Potter had not already been added to Dr. Reader's extensive list of victims.
He smiled inwardly at this thought, but it was a smile tinged with anxiety: He hadn't told Petunia of Reader's true identity, lest she take exception to having anything to do with the man. Truthfully, Vernon Dursley himself wasn't all that keen on tangling with Reader, but he felt that if he was going to keep up his own self-image as a Big Wheel, a Force To Be Reckoned With, he had to steel himself to do something bold and ruthless, and the idea of having the whip hand over someone as dangerous and brilliant as Reader was intoxicating.
Until Reader, with Harry's help, snatched the whip out of his hand.
Neither Petunia nor Dudley had gotten a good look at the person who coshed them, and none of the neighbors recalled hearing or seeing any visitors to number four Privet Drive during the day. Vernon never thought to consider whether the neighbors' faulty memory might have anything to do with the fact that the Dursleys were the most hated family in the street. Dursley couldn't very well go to the police, not without proof; and besides, he knew full well that Reader had managed to acquire certain information about Vernon Dursley's business dealings, information that would make life difficult for Dursley, were the police to find out about it.
Dursley discussed all this (all of this, of course, with the exception of Reader's true identity) with his wife later on in the evening, talking furiously in the kitchen when Dudley was safely in his room, absorbed in his PC version of Doom II. The Dursleys were so busy fretting and plotting that they never noticed the large shaggy black dog lying quietly under their kitchen window, apparently asleep among their tiger lilies.
The next day dawned bright and clear at Offhand Manor. Harry awoke, momentarily surprised at not waking up in his cramped cupboard. Then a broad grin spread over his face.
It wasn't just a dream, he realized. I really did break free from the Dursleys. I really am living with people who care for me, and about me.
He walked to the French windows and threw them wide open, just in time to greet Hedwig, freshly arrived from Hogwarts. She hooted softly to him, then flew around his room, inspecting it with a discerning owl gaze, before settling on the edge of his enormous bed.
Harry untied the note from her leg. It read as follows:
Dear Harry,
I read your message with great interest. I will be calling upon Dr. Reader very soon.
I trust that you are well.
Albus Dumbledore
Harry studied the note carefully. Dumbledore must be really concerned about him to want to leave Hogwarts right now, he thought. Harry wished he could reassure Dumbledore that he was fine, in fact better than fine, that there was nothing to worry about, so that Dumbledore could go back to preparing to do battle with Voldemort. He hated to waste Dumbledore's time this way.
Oh, well, he decided. Dumbledore must have his reasons. He set down the letter and scratched Hedwig lovingly around the neck. "Let's go downstairs after I get dressed," he told her as she hooted happily. "You can meet Lucy and see Dr. Reader again."
He was angry that Harry -- apparently with Reader's connivance -- had escaped him. He was angry that his folder on Reader had gone missing. And he was afraid, deeply and thoroughly afraid, that Harry and Reader were not only working together, but that they would, together, come back to Privet Drive and inflict far worse injury. Assuming, of course, that Harry Potter had not already been added to Dr. Reader's extensive list of victims.
He smiled inwardly at this thought, but it was a smile tinged with anxiety: He hadn't told Petunia of Reader's true identity, lest she take exception to having anything to do with the man. Truthfully, Vernon Dursley himself wasn't all that keen on tangling with Reader, but he felt that if he was going to keep up his own self-image as a Big Wheel, a Force To Be Reckoned With, he had to steel himself to do something bold and ruthless, and the idea of having the whip hand over someone as dangerous and brilliant as Reader was intoxicating.
Until Reader, with Harry's help, snatched the whip out of his hand.
Neither Petunia nor Dudley had gotten a good look at the person who coshed them, and none of the neighbors recalled hearing or seeing any visitors to number four Privet Drive during the day. Vernon never thought to consider whether the neighbors' faulty memory might have anything to do with the fact that the Dursleys were the most hated family in the street. Dursley couldn't very well go to the police, not without proof; and besides, he knew full well that Reader had managed to acquire certain information about Vernon Dursley's business dealings, information that would make life difficult for Dursley, were the police to find out about it.
Dursley discussed all this (all of this, of course, with the exception of Reader's true identity) with his wife later on in the evening, talking furiously in the kitchen when Dudley was safely in his room, absorbed in his PC version of Doom II. The Dursleys were so busy fretting and plotting that they never noticed the large shaggy black dog lying quietly under their kitchen window, apparently asleep among their tiger lilies.
The next day dawned bright and clear at Offhand Manor. Harry awoke, momentarily surprised at not waking up in his cramped cupboard. Then a broad grin spread over his face.
It wasn't just a dream, he realized. I really did break free from the Dursleys. I really am living with people who care for me, and about me.
He walked to the French windows and threw them wide open, just in time to greet Hedwig, freshly arrived from Hogwarts. She hooted softly to him, then flew around his room, inspecting it with a discerning owl gaze, before settling on the edge of his enormous bed.
Harry untied the note from her leg. It read as follows:
Dear Harry,
I read your message with great interest. I will be calling upon Dr. Reader very soon.
I trust that you are well.
Albus Dumbledore
Harry studied the note carefully. Dumbledore must be really concerned about him to want to leave Hogwarts right now, he thought. Harry wished he could reassure Dumbledore that he was fine, in fact better than fine, that there was nothing to worry about, so that Dumbledore could go back to preparing to do battle with Voldemort. He hated to waste Dumbledore's time this way.
Oh, well, he decided. Dumbledore must have his reasons. He set down the letter and scratched Hedwig lovingly around the neck. "Let's go downstairs after I get dressed," he told her as she hooted happily. "You can meet Lucy and see Dr. Reader again."
