Beneath the bright sunlight of the English countryside, Harry Potter
trudged behind his Uncle Vernon, lugging three bulging suitcases with him.
Staring with hatred at his uncle's quivering oversized back, the young
wizard thought longingly of icy pumpkin juice, fresh from the kitchen of
Hogwarts...
Well, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was far from here, the unknown village of Bosington. Harry himself had no idea as to why his large uncle and wisp of an aunt would decide to vacation here, nor why they would take him along. They – his aunt, uncle and tremendous cousin Dudley, who was waddling along with the train platform creaking ominously below him – hated Harry, hated him with a dangerous passion. Harry, in turn, found the Dursleys revoltingly easy to hate back, and hate them he did. But there was no denying it – he had no living relatives with which to live, since his parents had died.
Since his parents had died...the thought of it brought back a, rather painful, memory of looking into the Mirror of Erised in an abandoned classroom at Hogwarts, and seeing himself...reunited with his parents...
"BOY!" Harry heard Uncle Vernon bellow. "WHERE'VE YOU GOT TO – excuse me, pardon me – BOY!"
Harry looked around. He realized that lost in thought, he had wandered to the edge of the platform. Not far away, a shiny rental car was bulging with the Dursleys luggage and Dudley. Harry strolled over quickly, stuffed the suitcases in the trunk, and wedged himself between Dudley and the car door.
"Right, then," he heard Uncle Vernon say, and the car started off.
Trying to take shallow breaths in the little space he had, Harry wondered about his godfather, Sirius. A wizard wrongfully accused of the death of many Muggles – non-magic people -, and of being in league with Lord Voldemort, he had barely escaped death at the end of the school year – with the help of Harry and one of his best friends, Hermione Granger.
Thinking about the bushy-haired Hermione made Harry wonder about Ron Weasley, the red-haired, freckle-faced, other part of the trio. He wondered just where Ron was...no doubt doing something much more fun than being cramped in a car on the way to a predictably boring vacation. Harry, his face already squashed against the window glass with his glasses pressing painfully into his face, saw the tiny village of Bosington nearing. Surrounded by trees and gently swelling hilltops, it had seemed "positively perfect" to the squealing Aunt Petunia in the brochure. Harry, however, couldn't see how three streets covered with little shops and a single hotel could be perfect.
The car trundled along the road, reaching Bosington and pulled into the hotel parking lot. It took several trips for Harry to take the Dursleys luggage inside, along with his own tiny rucksack and wand stuffed into his pocket, as always. Once they had all been settled in – with Harry staying on a bare cot in Dudley's room – Uncle Vernon decided it was time to, "Take a stroll, breathe some fresh country air!"
The Dursleys and Harry ambled along the streets, winding in and out of the quaint shops, tiny cafes and antique stores. They had just reached what seemed to be the end of a main street when Harry noticed it out of the corner of his eye.
It was a corner shop, made of white stones, with the words Smythe's Potions and Fine Ingredients scrawled on the swinging sign. The window display had several dusty books and scales placed in worn velvet. A potion shop - here – in Bosington, a Muggle village!
Harry stared. Then, hesitantly, he tugged at Uncle Vernon's arm, who was chattering animatedly.
"What?" he snapped.
"D'y – do you see?" Harry asked tentatively.
"See? See what?"
Harry pointed to the stone cobbled shop
"A used bookstore? Fancy yourself a new book?" Uncle Vernon scoffed.
"But it's – it's.." And idea dawned upon Harry. He was reminded of the Leaky Cauldron, a wizard pub that...only wizards could see...
"Er – yes, I do," Harry said. "I'll – I'll go check it out, then."
"I'm not giving you any money!" Uncle Vernon squawked insultingly.
"I...didn't ask you for any..." replied Harry vaguely, and set off across the sunny street.
He reached the shop and reached out a hand to touch the cool stones. It was real. He opened the side door and stepped inside.
He was in a rather small front room, with shelves lining the walls and – it gave Harry a jolt – the roof too. Boxes were piled and scattered all over the floor and bags littered the shop. A high mahogany desk sat near the far wall and – Harry had another jolt – a girl his own age of fourteen stood behind it.
She hadn't noticed him yet, tugging at the old fashioned cash register in front of her. Harry took a step closer. Her hair fell in a slightly disheveled way to her waist– auburn it seemed in the low-lit shop. Glasses, slim and pointed, sat on her nose. She seemed a bit short – Harry noticed several cushions piled beneath her feet. He gave a little cough.
The girl jumped a foot in the air and the cushions fell about the floor, her atop of them a moment later. "Oh!" she cried from her place on the floor, and got up to walk around the desk to Harry.
"Hello sir, how may I..." her voice trailed off. She had looked up to meet Harry's eyes. Harry himself felt his stomach give a twist as he looked into hers, dark and green as the sea. It was unnerving – she resembled a female Harry, with his mother's eyes. "You...look familiar."
Harry was used to this. People often recognized him – he, Harry Potter, who had survived a curse from Lord Voldemort when he was just a baby - Lord Voldemort, who had defeated all and was the most evil of all wizards! "Erm...yes." He said uncomfortably.
"Have we met before? I don't think you're from Bosington. And you're certainly not a Muggle," she continued conversationally. She had, Harry noticed, a rather different accent.
"I'm – erm – not from Bosington...I'm H-Harry Potter," he replied uncertainly.
Her mouth flew open. "OH! You're the one they've been talking about! They've been telling me all about you, they never said you'd come here..."
"Er...sorry...but, who's been talking about me?" Harry couldn't understand her accent. It was so...different...
"Oh sorry, I didn't mean –"she stopped and looked wonderingly at his scar. "I – my, uh, family I suppose.
"You suppose?" It dawned on Harry that the last thing he would have expected on his vacation with the Dursleys was talking to a witch in a dimly lit potion shop on the corner.
"Well you see, I didn't used to live here. I used to live in Canada, you know? We do have terribly good Quidditch teams there, if you don't mind me saying. And then about a year ago, my parents...they..."
Harry didn't need her to finish the sentence. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.
The girl gave a little shake of her head. "Thank you. Anyway, I came here to live with my aunt and uncle – Beatrice and Bernard. They own this shop, you know, we live just upstairs." She pointed to a door on the back wall that Harry hadn't noticed.
"Oh."
Silence.
"I...I was wondering, isn't Bosington a Muggle town?"
"Oh yes!" She smiled warmly. She had a kind, easy smile that reminded Harry forcibly of Hermione. "We have permission from Albus Dumbledore to run the shop up here...All the Muggles thinks it's a used bookshop, they try to stay clear of us for the most part. Think we're a bit odd, you know, we've got strange shipments coming in now and again. We're only allowed to stay up here because Bosington is so small, and alone up here in the mountains. We couldn't exactly have three boxes of dragon scales shipped to London!"
Harry laughed a bit too loudly. It echoed around the dusty shop, and a sort of awkwardness fell between them. "So..." he began, and trailed off. She was glancing around the shop uninterestedly. Harry didn't want to go, but didn't know what else to say. "You said something about Dumbledore?"
"Oh yeah, he's the one who let us run this up here, you know, sorted some stuff out with the Ministry. He's the Headmaster of –"
"Hogwarts," Harry finished for her. He was grinning now too. "Are you going there in September?"
"Yes, I'm a bit nervous, you know, I mean I've never..." she looked suddenly anxious.
"What House d'you think you'll be in?"
"I don't really know. I suppose not Slytherin, eh? Not that good of a House I've heard, but that's coming from Brenda and you don't really know when it comes to her..."
"Trust me," Harry assured her, "Slytherin is the last house you want to be in." He thought instantly of his rival and archenemy in Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy. "Who's Brenda?"
"She's my cousin. There's the five of us, me, Brenda, Jools, Beth and Tom, except he's a fiend, don't mind him."
Harry felt a little tickle in his stomach. "Don't mind him?"
Her smile widened. "When we have you over for tea, of course! Uncle Bernard and Aunt Beatrice will be so excited to hear you've come to Bosington, everyone has been talking about you. Oh, and I am Maggie. Maggie Smythe, if you couldn't tell by the sign."
Harry felt himself begin to beam. Maybe a vacation with the Dursleys wouldn't be to terrible after all.
Well, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was far from here, the unknown village of Bosington. Harry himself had no idea as to why his large uncle and wisp of an aunt would decide to vacation here, nor why they would take him along. They – his aunt, uncle and tremendous cousin Dudley, who was waddling along with the train platform creaking ominously below him – hated Harry, hated him with a dangerous passion. Harry, in turn, found the Dursleys revoltingly easy to hate back, and hate them he did. But there was no denying it – he had no living relatives with which to live, since his parents had died.
Since his parents had died...the thought of it brought back a, rather painful, memory of looking into the Mirror of Erised in an abandoned classroom at Hogwarts, and seeing himself...reunited with his parents...
"BOY!" Harry heard Uncle Vernon bellow. "WHERE'VE YOU GOT TO – excuse me, pardon me – BOY!"
Harry looked around. He realized that lost in thought, he had wandered to the edge of the platform. Not far away, a shiny rental car was bulging with the Dursleys luggage and Dudley. Harry strolled over quickly, stuffed the suitcases in the trunk, and wedged himself between Dudley and the car door.
"Right, then," he heard Uncle Vernon say, and the car started off.
Trying to take shallow breaths in the little space he had, Harry wondered about his godfather, Sirius. A wizard wrongfully accused of the death of many Muggles – non-magic people -, and of being in league with Lord Voldemort, he had barely escaped death at the end of the school year – with the help of Harry and one of his best friends, Hermione Granger.
Thinking about the bushy-haired Hermione made Harry wonder about Ron Weasley, the red-haired, freckle-faced, other part of the trio. He wondered just where Ron was...no doubt doing something much more fun than being cramped in a car on the way to a predictably boring vacation. Harry, his face already squashed against the window glass with his glasses pressing painfully into his face, saw the tiny village of Bosington nearing. Surrounded by trees and gently swelling hilltops, it had seemed "positively perfect" to the squealing Aunt Petunia in the brochure. Harry, however, couldn't see how three streets covered with little shops and a single hotel could be perfect.
The car trundled along the road, reaching Bosington and pulled into the hotel parking lot. It took several trips for Harry to take the Dursleys luggage inside, along with his own tiny rucksack and wand stuffed into his pocket, as always. Once they had all been settled in – with Harry staying on a bare cot in Dudley's room – Uncle Vernon decided it was time to, "Take a stroll, breathe some fresh country air!"
The Dursleys and Harry ambled along the streets, winding in and out of the quaint shops, tiny cafes and antique stores. They had just reached what seemed to be the end of a main street when Harry noticed it out of the corner of his eye.
It was a corner shop, made of white stones, with the words Smythe's Potions and Fine Ingredients scrawled on the swinging sign. The window display had several dusty books and scales placed in worn velvet. A potion shop - here – in Bosington, a Muggle village!
Harry stared. Then, hesitantly, he tugged at Uncle Vernon's arm, who was chattering animatedly.
"What?" he snapped.
"D'y – do you see?" Harry asked tentatively.
"See? See what?"
Harry pointed to the stone cobbled shop
"A used bookstore? Fancy yourself a new book?" Uncle Vernon scoffed.
"But it's – it's.." And idea dawned upon Harry. He was reminded of the Leaky Cauldron, a wizard pub that...only wizards could see...
"Er – yes, I do," Harry said. "I'll – I'll go check it out, then."
"I'm not giving you any money!" Uncle Vernon squawked insultingly.
"I...didn't ask you for any..." replied Harry vaguely, and set off across the sunny street.
He reached the shop and reached out a hand to touch the cool stones. It was real. He opened the side door and stepped inside.
He was in a rather small front room, with shelves lining the walls and – it gave Harry a jolt – the roof too. Boxes were piled and scattered all over the floor and bags littered the shop. A high mahogany desk sat near the far wall and – Harry had another jolt – a girl his own age of fourteen stood behind it.
She hadn't noticed him yet, tugging at the old fashioned cash register in front of her. Harry took a step closer. Her hair fell in a slightly disheveled way to her waist– auburn it seemed in the low-lit shop. Glasses, slim and pointed, sat on her nose. She seemed a bit short – Harry noticed several cushions piled beneath her feet. He gave a little cough.
The girl jumped a foot in the air and the cushions fell about the floor, her atop of them a moment later. "Oh!" she cried from her place on the floor, and got up to walk around the desk to Harry.
"Hello sir, how may I..." her voice trailed off. She had looked up to meet Harry's eyes. Harry himself felt his stomach give a twist as he looked into hers, dark and green as the sea. It was unnerving – she resembled a female Harry, with his mother's eyes. "You...look familiar."
Harry was used to this. People often recognized him – he, Harry Potter, who had survived a curse from Lord Voldemort when he was just a baby - Lord Voldemort, who had defeated all and was the most evil of all wizards! "Erm...yes." He said uncomfortably.
"Have we met before? I don't think you're from Bosington. And you're certainly not a Muggle," she continued conversationally. She had, Harry noticed, a rather different accent.
"I'm – erm – not from Bosington...I'm H-Harry Potter," he replied uncertainly.
Her mouth flew open. "OH! You're the one they've been talking about! They've been telling me all about you, they never said you'd come here..."
"Er...sorry...but, who's been talking about me?" Harry couldn't understand her accent. It was so...different...
"Oh sorry, I didn't mean –"she stopped and looked wonderingly at his scar. "I – my, uh, family I suppose.
"You suppose?" It dawned on Harry that the last thing he would have expected on his vacation with the Dursleys was talking to a witch in a dimly lit potion shop on the corner.
"Well you see, I didn't used to live here. I used to live in Canada, you know? We do have terribly good Quidditch teams there, if you don't mind me saying. And then about a year ago, my parents...they..."
Harry didn't need her to finish the sentence. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.
The girl gave a little shake of her head. "Thank you. Anyway, I came here to live with my aunt and uncle – Beatrice and Bernard. They own this shop, you know, we live just upstairs." She pointed to a door on the back wall that Harry hadn't noticed.
"Oh."
Silence.
"I...I was wondering, isn't Bosington a Muggle town?"
"Oh yes!" She smiled warmly. She had a kind, easy smile that reminded Harry forcibly of Hermione. "We have permission from Albus Dumbledore to run the shop up here...All the Muggles thinks it's a used bookshop, they try to stay clear of us for the most part. Think we're a bit odd, you know, we've got strange shipments coming in now and again. We're only allowed to stay up here because Bosington is so small, and alone up here in the mountains. We couldn't exactly have three boxes of dragon scales shipped to London!"
Harry laughed a bit too loudly. It echoed around the dusty shop, and a sort of awkwardness fell between them. "So..." he began, and trailed off. She was glancing around the shop uninterestedly. Harry didn't want to go, but didn't know what else to say. "You said something about Dumbledore?"
"Oh yeah, he's the one who let us run this up here, you know, sorted some stuff out with the Ministry. He's the Headmaster of –"
"Hogwarts," Harry finished for her. He was grinning now too. "Are you going there in September?"
"Yes, I'm a bit nervous, you know, I mean I've never..." she looked suddenly anxious.
"What House d'you think you'll be in?"
"I don't really know. I suppose not Slytherin, eh? Not that good of a House I've heard, but that's coming from Brenda and you don't really know when it comes to her..."
"Trust me," Harry assured her, "Slytherin is the last house you want to be in." He thought instantly of his rival and archenemy in Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy. "Who's Brenda?"
"She's my cousin. There's the five of us, me, Brenda, Jools, Beth and Tom, except he's a fiend, don't mind him."
Harry felt a little tickle in his stomach. "Don't mind him?"
Her smile widened. "When we have you over for tea, of course! Uncle Bernard and Aunt Beatrice will be so excited to hear you've come to Bosington, everyone has been talking about you. Oh, and I am Maggie. Maggie Smythe, if you couldn't tell by the sign."
Harry felt himself begin to beam. Maybe a vacation with the Dursleys wouldn't be to terrible after all.