"It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood"
BANG!
Harry awoke with a start. Half expecting to see Voldemort standing over him with his wand aimed at his head, Harry frantically looked around in the darkness, trying to see what ominous thing or person had woken him so fully. But his room was empty and completely Voldemort-free. He sat up in his bed and grabbed his glasses off the side table, pushing them on his face. The room slid into focus, but still nothing revealed itself as the culprit.
Then Harry heard it: voices talking quietly outside.
Slipping quietly from beneath his covers, Harry tiptoed to the window, careful to avoid making any sound, lest the Dursleys wake up and make a fuss. He peered out, curious to see what kook -besides him now- would be awake at this crazy hour of the morning.
There, down on the Privet Drive stood a familiar triple-decker bus painted in a brutal shade of purple. Harry instantly recognized the Knight Bus: a Wizarding passenger vehicle something akin to cheap motel suite crossed with a run away roller coaster. Two people stood beneath the street lamp, and one in the door of the bus.
" 'Ere you are, ladies. An' thank you for riding the Knight Bus! Oh, an' 'ere's your luggage!" The sound of two bags landing on the sidewalk followed the familiar voice of the bus's conductor Stan Shunpike. Then with another ear-shattering BANG! the Bus disappeared. Two streetlights, four trees and a small decorative boulder surreptitiously moved back into their places.
Harry watched as the two ladies, both looking slightly ill, picked up their bags and walked down the street, past number four. "I'd forgotten what an experience it is to ride that bloomin' thing," one of the witches muttered to the other. "I'm always sick for an entire week following. I think they must find all the old Quidditch players --you know, the ones hit by three too many bludgers-- and hire them as the drivers."
"Too true!" the other witch agreed. "Personally I usually avoid it at all costs. Brooms are so much more reliable. I don't care how far off Hogsmeade is. Next time I'm flying!"
Not believing what his ears and eyes told him, Harry wiped his glasses then replaced them on his nose. Sure enough the witch walking down the street, complaining about her ride home was none other than Mrs. Figg.
Crazy old Mrs. Figg was a witch.
Surprisingly, whether it was the lateness -or earliness as the case may be- of the hour, or all the facts just seeming to agree, Harry didn't seem too astonished by this revelation. She always had been a mad old woman. And her cats . . . that in itself should have given her away. Harry idly wondered why he hadn't realized it sooner. It could have been the fact that the Dursleys associated with her. And the Dursleys would never consort with that kind, not willingly anyway. Harry bit back a laugh. All these years they'd had a witch for a babysitter! What he wouldn't give to see the looks on their faces if the Dursleys ever found out.
Aside from the fact that the Knight Bus had just arrived on Privet drive, the dark street appeared as normal and un-magical as it had for the past forever. Yawning widely, Harry pulled off his glasses and crawled back into his bed, hoping to catch a few more hours worth of sleep, before the sun officially declared the day's opening.
Harry thought little of the Knight Bus and Mrs. Figg that day. He had much more important things on his mind, like which vampire outbreak to write his report on, whether he should write Sirius about his holiday, and how he was going to survive the next few days. Uncle Vernon announced at breakfast Wednesday morning, that his good friend Baldric Cornby would be coming in from Inverness and staying the weekend.
Seeing as how it would be difficult to hide his presence for an entire three days, Harry, of course, received his usual lecture on good behavior from his uncle: "Don't even think of doing any of that nonsense stuff!" The oration also included mandatory items such as what to say: "Hello, goodbye, yes, and no." And what not to say: pretty much everything else.
When the fateful Friday arrived, Harry only half-listened to Uncle Vernon recall the entire file of "Harry's do's and don'ts" yet again, as he strolled down the swept walk -a job done by Harry- crossed the freshly cut front garden - another job done by Harry- and climbed into his newly shined car - also done by Harry.
"Listen here, boy!" Uncle Vernon hissed. "Baldric and I have been friends for years. I have a lot of respect for him, and he for me. And I won't have you going about ruining everything I've worked so hard to earn!"
Harry tuned out the sound of his uncle's voice, as his eye caught sight of a barn owl swooping down through the trees in the back of a house across the way. He'd heard it all before and could repeat the lecture verbatim. He thought of Hedwig, up in his room and reminded himself to let her out before Uncle Vernon and his guest returned.
"Are you listening to me, boy?" Uncle Vernon's sharp voice cut through. "What did I just say?"
Harry blinked and looked at his uncle. "Er . . ." he started, searching his mind for the section of the dissertation to repeat. "Yes. 'We'll have none of your usual nonsense or abnormality popping up while Baldric is here.'" Harry repeated.
Somewhat mollified, Uncle Vernon first looked around to see how many of the neighbors would notice him with the fashionable new suit. He climbed into his shiny car, causing it to drop several inches on its chassis, and closed the door with a "whump!" He drove away, leaving Harry to himself.
Harry watched the car down the road till it turned at the corner, relishing the few moments silence. He noticed the neighbor just across the way, messing around with a lawn mower, which refused to start. The neighbor looked up and smiled sheepishly as he waved. Harry waved back then returned to the house to let Hedwig out and warn her off for the weekend.
What turned out to be too short of a time later, the sound of Uncle Vernon's car crescendoed as it drew closer to number four. Reaching its climax at the front drive, the engine suddenly cut out and two doors slammed shut. Uncle Vernon's voice carried all the way through the house where Harry could hear him bragging about his newest client and the account.
Harry dutifully stalked down to the front room to greet their guest and nearly choked on the heavily perfumed air. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were already there, which explained the dizzying smells.
In the Dursley home, there were a few signs that always slammed into a person, cluing them in when a special visitor came. The more benign signals included a thorough cleaning of the house and yard with sharp instructions from Aunt Petunia -usually done by Harry; fresh sheets adorning the guest room bed -put on by Harry; and all of Harry's school supplies locked safely away in the cupboard under the stairs -bolted there by Uncle Vernon, much to the chagrin of Harry.
Among the more dangerous clues of such events, was the telling-off and shrill nagging of Aunt Petunia, the quick temper and pre-event scoldings by Uncle Vernon, and the Harry-hunting of a bored Dudley, which is not saying much because Dudley could hardly leave his seat anymore, let alone chase Harry down road.
The deadliest of signs however, was Aunt Petunia's favorite 'evening event scent,' which she donned just before the anticipated arrival. Heavily dowsed in a fragrance -if it could be called that- which smelled something comparable to magnolias dunked several times in petrol and Hagrid's awful after shave, Aunt Petunia could walk down the street creating 90-proof-whiskey hangovers to even the sturdiest of men. Those souls who were not so lucky - or maybe they were the lucky ones - simply passed out cold along the streets, experiencing violent nightmares of white and pink flowers setting fire to everything in sight, with only the aid of a shaving razor. Wall paper curled; flowers dipped their heads, embarrassed to be called fragrant; and neighboring Air Quality Control Associations contacted local authorities on code violations.
Harry ran into the kitchen and opened every screened window in the hopes of creating some sort of free-air zone. When he returned to the front room, Aunt Petunia was straightening Dudley's collar and bow tie; which, Harry thought she needn't bother with, since the bow tie usually couldn't be seen beneath all the rolls of Dudley's chins anyway. The front door swung open and Uncle Vernon's large frame filled the entire hole. He stepped inside allowing a man of medium build entrance to the house.
Baldric Cornby seemed to be in his middle-age, and wore it rather well. His sandy hair was clean and neatly trimmed. He was not especially tall, but he was nowhere near short. A crisp blue suit, complete with matching vest and a crisp white handkerchief, adorned his trim body. His shoes shined like morning sun on the ocean. He was neither excessively fat, nor thin, But standing next to Uncle Vernon he looked rather skinny. Next to Dudley, Baldric looked positively emaciated. But then again, anyone next to Dudley looked positively emaciated. All in all, Baldric Cornby appeared exactly how any acquaintance of Vernon Dursley should appear: perfectly average and extremely dull.
Harry ventured to guess that by the start of Monday, Cornby would also probably think of Harry as something lower than a flobber-worm, just like the few other long-stay guests of the Dursley home invariably did. If he managed to notice his presence at all, that is.
Uncle Vernon proudly introduced Aunt Petunia and Dudley to his friend. "Baldric, you remember my lovely wife Petunia?"
"How ever could I forget?" Baldric asked magnanimously, taking her hand and applying a gracious kiss.
"Baldric," Aunt Petunia curtsied, her cheeks blushing slightly at the comment, and even more at the kiss. Harry watched with some amusement as Cornby wiped off his lips with his hanky when he thought no one was looking.
"This fine fellow is my son, Dudley." Uncle Vernon went on, patting Dudley's shoulder.
"Mr. Cornby! It is a pleasure to meet you sir. Father has told me all about your marvelous travels." Baldric Cornby stepped forward as Dudley tried to waddle closer. "In school I had to write an essay on the person I admire most, and I chose you, sir!"
Harry rolled his eyes in resignation. Dudley had used that line before, many times, and it showed. He actually managed to deliver it without appearing to strain any and every muscle in his brain as he tried to recite what his mummy had told him.
"Did you now?" Baldric asked with modest embarrassment. "I should say, that was probably a mistake. I didn't think I'd done anything that grand. Didn't get bad marks of the paper did you?" he asked. "You might want to study someone else in the future."
Dudley, gaped. Never before had any of his father's clients or friends ever responded in this fashion. He didn't know what to say, and his atrophied brain couldn't think of anything fast enough. Unsure of what to do, Dudley settled on waddling back to his mother's side, somewhat perplexed.
Uncle Vernon's face quickly changed from a confused look back to its official-host-smile as Conrby's attention left Dudley and noticed Harry. "And who might this be?" Baldric asked nodding in Harry's direction. His face held a look of curious interest. "You didn't tell me you had another son, Vernon."
"Er . . . no." Uncle Vernon corrected hastily. "This is my nephew. Harry . . . Potter," he added as if to clarify that Harry was of no blood relation to himself.
"Really? Harry Potter??" Baldric exclaimed in an excited tone. He took Harry's hand in both of his and shook it energetically as his eyes performed a quick appraisal over the scrawny boy. "The Harry Potter??"
Their worse fear confirmed, Aunt Petunia gasped, and covered her mouth with a hand while Uncle Vernon's eyes widened and he started turning red. Harry simply blinked in surprise. He doubted whether or not his neighbors knew he lived with the Dursleys. Yet here, a perfect muggle stranger recognized him? He couldn't imagine any muggle -besides the Dursleys- even knowing he existed, let alone knowing his name. "Er . . . yes, sir. Do you . . .?"
"Never heard of you," Baldric admitted in a bored tone and a shrug. He winked pleasantly and released Harry's wrist, which seemed to still be moving in an up and down motion. Harry's heart sank slightly. The idea that someone non-magical actually knew his name had been a bright hope, but now it was quashed.
Behind Cornby, Uncle Vernon's now-purple face started gaining back some of its original pallor. "Ah! A joke. How quaint," he choked, relieved to discover that Harry's identity was still not widespread.
Baldric looked curiously at Petunia, then Vernon with one eyebrow raised. "Are you . . . quite all right?" he asked with concern.
"Yes, of course. Ah, Petunia, how is dinner coming?" Uncle Vernon quickly changed the subject.
Dinner was a fine affair in which Uncle Vernon, and Aunt Petunia listened politely to Baldric's animated stories of his travels, while Dudley ate everything in sight,-his diet had been abandoned for the weekend on account of Uncle Vernon's guest- and Harry tried to remain unobtrusive. Baldric, it turned out, was -as he put it- a sort of "traveling accountant;" a thoroughly boring job which was livened only by the fact that he visited many different places.
Dudley, completely deaf to the conversation, finished off his own plate of food and all the left-overs on the serving dishes. He eyed Harry's dinner roll hungrily. Harry remained busy trying to appear somewhat attentive to Baldric Cornby's stories, while guarding his food at the same time.
"Yes and there was the time I saved the bank from crashing in Whipple," Cornby recalled.
"Whipple?" Aunt Petunia's eyes scrunched at the sound of an oddly named place. Obviously geography had not been her subject of strength.
"Yes, Whipple. It's a mug . . .um well, a quaint little town just south of Whonkshire; famous for all the coffee mugs they make there," Cornby explained.
Cornby's sentence caught Harry's attention for a moment and, glancing up, he lost his roll as his porky cousin speared it with a fork and neatly lifted the bun from his plate. Harry frowned as he looked back at the empty place on his dish. Then he heard a sound nearly that made his heart stop.
Scratching.
Familiar scratching.
Hedwig. What was she doing back already? Harry had told her to spend some time else where for the weekend, perhaps at Ron's or with Hagrid. Why would she now be scratching at the window?
Harry glanced around at the other people at the table. If they had heard the owl, they showed no sign. Harry began to wonder if he'd just imagined it. But just as he'd finished convincing himself that this was the case, it happened again. "May I be excused?" Harry asked politely, not waiting for a pause in the conversation.
Baldric Cornby stopped mid-sentence while Uncle Vernon looked venomously at Harry for interrupting. "No boy. You may sit right where you are, and listen to Mr. Cornby tell us about his nice, normal job." He emphasized the normal, and stuck Harry with a look that would have killed a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Luckily, Harry had come by a sort of immunity to Uncle Vernon's glares over the years, and wasn't even phased.
Harry cringed inside. He knew that if Hedwig wasn't let in soon she'd start . . .
SCREECH!
This time, the scratching was accompanied by a loud squawk and what sounded unmistakably like a large bird hitting a strong window. This time, there was no doubt that everyone had indeed heard the owl. Harry's head sunk into his hands as his owl brained herself on the glass once more.
"What was that?" Dudley asked, frantically looking around.
"It sounded like an owl to me," Cornby advised conversationally.
Uncle Vernon's face swiftly turned its familiar shade of Harry's-going-to-die-really-soon-if-he-doesn't-quit-it-now-purple. "Boy! If that is your beastly . . ."
Harry didn't listen to Uncle Vernon any longer, the frantic scratching and screeching could be heard at the front door now. He leapt to his feet and scrambled to the door, opening it a crack. The normally refined and dignified, snowy-white owl, beat her wings at the door, demanding to be let in. Seeing the crevice, Hedwig swooped at his face, causing Harry to yelp, trip on the rug and stumble backward right into Baldric Cornby.
"I say lad, your owl seems to be rather upset," he noted clinically, setting Harry upright again. "I wonder what could have set her off like that." He opened the door and stepped outside. He looked around, stepped out into the garden, then gazed up at the sky with little more than mild interest. "Ah, yes. That might explain it." Harry ran out to see what Baldric was looking at, and nearly fell over when he saw it.
There, circling in the sky was a bright green, scaly, dragon.
What was a dragon doing here on privet drive? Harry demanded of himself. Well, flying obviously. Another corner of his mind answered calmly. Coming up with no other plausible answer, he just gawked, as the dragon flapped its powerful wings and orbited.
The Dursleys ran out to join Cornby and scold to Harry for the ruckus. But before Uncle Vernon could open his mouth the dragon opened its own and bellowed ferociously. Three heads snapped skyward and Aunt Petunia screamed shrilly.
Whether Aunt Petunia's scream had attracted attention, or the dragon's roar had rattled windows, or -more likely- Aunt Petunia's 'event scent' had finally wafted into the neighboring homes driving innocent families out for decontaminated air, an amazing thing happened. Almost instantly the neighborhood seemed to come alive as it never had before.
All up and down Privet Drive, people streamed from their houses and gawked at the beast in the sky. Had there not been a large green, fire spitting, flying lizard a few hundred feet above their heads, Harry, along with the Dursley's would have noticed them more.
"What is that?" Aunt Petunia gasped.
"A dragon," Harry answered, bemused as he watched the creature soar graciously above them. His appreciation for dragons had grown dramatically since his last encounter.
"Now see here, boy!" Uncle Vernon's voice snapped. "There are no such things as dragons! I will not have any more of this nonsensical talk!"
"Actually he's right, Vernon. Looks like a baby Common Welsh Green in fact." Baldric corrected, fumbling inside his dinner jacket. "It must have wandered from its mother and become lost."
At that point in time the forty foot dragon decided to belch flames in the general direction of the ground, sending several neighbors scattering for safety. A few of the ladies screamed while the men yelled for everyone to take cover.
The yelling and scrambling sounds from the ground naturally caught the emerald dragon's attention. Being rather high-strung in personality, not to mention utterly nearsighted, it immediately landed in the middle of Privet Drive, in the hopes of catching a better glimpse of his soon-to-be-dinner.
"Daddy? Why the neighbors running toward that . . . thing . . . carrying pointy sticks?" Dudley asked in a semi-panic.
Harry, at this time experienced something of an epiphany. He looked at his neighbors with new eyes. (As did his Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin.) The O'Bannion's, the Martin's, the Shaw's, Darby Tetty, Tess Thornton . . . All the grown neighbors who lived on Privet Drive were indeed running toward the dragon. While some of them were dressed in clothes resembling typical muggle attire, many of them wore robes unmistakably wizard-like in make. And all of them bore wands.
The Dursley's stood slack-jawed and mortified by what they saw. Harry blinked in delighted surprise. He lived in a neighborhood populated with several of his own kind.
As an added bonus, several loud popping noises filled the air like popcorn in a cooker, as no less than ten wizards from the Ministry of Magic apparated right before their eyes.
"Those are not simple 'pointy sticks' silly child. Honestly! I'd thought you'd have learned that by now," Baldric Cornby sighed sadly, wielding a 'pointy stick' of his own. "And you had the faintest glimmer of intelligence. I did have hopes for you young fellow . . . ah well, looks can be deceiving." And with that, he strode off to join the other ministry members who were holding the giant dragon at bay.
Uncle Vernon's mouth kept moving up and down without any noise coming from it. He was so busy goggling at his 'perfectly normal neighbors' that he completely missed Aunt Petunia's fainting. She fell against him then slid to the ground landing in a messy heap in the grass at Uncle Vernon's feet. Dudley, finally putting two and two together, realized what robes and wands on all of his neighbors meant, and ran --er . . . waddled at top speed-- toward the house, holding his buttocks with one hand and his tongue with the other.
Harry stood motionless on the spot, not believing what his eyes told him. For all his life-or at least the last four years- he had believed he was the only wizard for miles and miles around. Now, come to find out, he was completely surrounded by non-muggles. He smiled to himself at the mere prospect of it all.
"STUPIFY!" cried twenty unified voices. The mighty dragon fell.
So did Uncle Vernon.
Though the noise he made as he hit the ground sounded much more grotesque and painful than that of the dragon.
About that time wizards from the daily prophet wearing press uniforms popped in and started interviewing the people, while others snapped photos of the stunned dragon. The oversized lizard no longer a threat, the neighbors of Privet drive began to relax and talk among themselves. To them the appearance of a dragon on their street seemed as normal as the milkman delivering goods.
"Why Ormerond, Are you wearing new robes? They're smashing darling! Simply smashing!"
"Leola! Is that a new cauldron I saw you cooking with?"
"Oh Mr. Digby! Did you refinish your back garden? I could tell that the gnomes were gone yesterday!"
"Did you hear? Lester found another dratted boggart in the closet the other day? It'd had my kids in fits all week."
"Wouldn't that be a story for the Daily Prophet? 'Osbert the grand tackles rogue goblin in Diagon Alley.' That's sorta catchy. You should go talk to Alberta over there, she's a writer for them."
Harry's neighbors threw him cheerful smiles and a few waved as they all wandered back to their homes, chatting amiably amongst themselves. Obviously Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's careful concealment of Harry had defects. Harry waved back, not knowing what to think. Wizards! All of them. He never knew it.
The ministry wizards managed to haul the dragon off by some feat that could be accomplished only with the help of magic. And soon the street cleared, leaving Privet Drive as normal and non-magical as always.
Baldric Cornby sauntered back toward where Harry still stood taking in his neighborhood with novel insight. "The neighbors will start to wonder about your sanity if you insist on standing there like that too long," he commented with a wry smile. "That or the owls will think you're a newly installed roost."
Harry looked at Baldric Cornby with new approval. He'd not been sure what to think of the man before, but now he looked on him with great fervor. How and why Cornby had ever connected with Uncle Vernon -and managed to stay connected- was beyond Harry's comprehension.
This must have shown on Harry's face, for Cornby tipped his head at the house then pointed at his unconscious relatives, which hovered nearby held aloft by wand-point. "I'll explain later. But first we'd better get your aunt and uncle inside before it starts to rain."
After modifying their memories, dropping Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia on the floor of their bedroom --why ruin a perfectly nice front room with two catatonic bodies lying around?-- and chasing down Dudley --who promptly began to try and eat his way through the confining walls and needed a sleeping charm to calm him-- Baldric and Harry sat down at the table to peacefully finish off their dinner with the lovely dessert of crisp apple strudel.
As he listened to Baldric retell his stories of his travels -this time with slight modifications favoring the truth- Harry couldn't help but smile and think to himself. "I wonder what would happen if a hippogriff came to visit . . ."