Harry Potter and the Malevolent Affections
Chapter Five - Somewhere Nice?
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters used in the Harry Potter books, they are the creation and property of JK Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fiction.
Harry sat halfway up the stairs surreptitiously listening to his uncle's phone conversation with the package holiday company. After the late start to the day the Dursley's were rapidly making up for lost time. His aunt was franticly packing and Dudley was punching up road maps on his computer in between mouthfuls.
"There's a place available? - Well there damn well should be - I've been waiting long enough." Harry felt a pang of pity for whoever was on the other end of the phone. Vernon seemed to have taken it as personal offence that there had been no places available at the camp site he'd chosen. "You'll see what you can do? Well about time. Tomorrow? Morning? Good." His uncle put the phone down and dusted his hands off, he looked pleased with himself. "Authority - that's what these people need." He kept muttering.
Harry retreated to his room and relaxed on his bed, he allowed himself a small smile - tomorrow morning the Dursley's would be gone for the entire summer.
"Ready?" said a familiar, but none-the-less creepy voice. Harry tried to stand but got his feet tangled in the bedclothes. After a few moments of struggling he fell onto the floor and managed to free himself.
"What for?" He asked looking up at Abigail where she sat perched on the edge of his cluttered desk. Her smile dropped for a moment and she suddenly looked upset.
"You said you'd take me somewhere nice. Well, actually you promised you'd take me somewhere nice." Her eyes narrowed like a cats as he righted himself and stood up.
"Yeah… I guess I did - but there's nowhere nice around here and I'm not exactly dressed for the occasion. I'll take you somewhere but a little later maybe." She threw a bundle of clothes at his feet. Without taking his eyes off her he knelt to pick them up. There was a pair of black cord trousers and a dark green shirt.
"Put them on." She slid off the table and turned her back to him, crossing her arms. He didn't move. "Hurry up Harry." Still he didn't move, completely bewildered by the situation. "Little bird - you're starting to annoy me." Suddenly he sprawled forwards, it felt like someone was pushing a heavy boot into his back - the pressure increased and he heard his shoulders click. He grabbed the shirt and pulled it on over his t-shirt. The invisible boot let up a bit - just enough for him to change into the trousers.
"I still have nowhere to take you." He grunted as the weight on his back disappeared. She made an annoyed sound in her throat and grabbed his arm.
"Just follow me." He didn't have much choice. For someone who looked so delicate she was incredibly strong. With her other hand she pointed forwards, her hair began to stir eerily and she floated higher off the floor. With a sound like splintering glass, a glowing blue light appeared in front of them. She pushed him towards it. His hair stood on end and crackled like static as the room spun about him, when it stopped spinning it was no longer a room. The first thing that he noticed was the air - it was wonderfully clean and fresh but also seemed thinner than normal. He could see for miles and miles around him, blue-grey mountains stood against the horizon wreathed in clouds and snow. It was amazing.
"Where are we?" He looked down and gasped, the ground sloped away at an incredibly steep angle.
"Somewhere nice." said Abigail, who was staring at Harry rather than the scenery.
Hermione rubbed her sore eyes. She'd been reading non-stop ever since the phone call and the air was thick with dust from the dog-eared books, most of which were useless. She didn't like to admit it but everything she'd been looking through was far to muggle-like to be of any good. "What did you expect?" she asked herself sternly. "The public library isn't exactly the world's number one authority on wizarding matters." She clambered over to the window and opened it wide, letting the summer breeze stir amongst her dusty hair. This was getting slightly stupid she realised. There was no real reason to suspect that Harry was in any kind of trouble - only she had the strangest feeling that something bad was going to happen "You're getting obsessive," said the stern voice. She looked at the vast pile of books - "I suppose I could just phone him and sort this whole thing out…" But that would mean admitting that she needed help. It was a battle between her pride and her curiosity and she wasn't sure which was going to win.
Harry slowly turned around, taking in the full panoramic view from the mountain top. Abigail was right - it really was a nice place. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gently guided him away from the edge.
"I brought some food." She held up a bundle parcelled neatly in white linen.
"I've already eaten," said Harry still gazing into the distance.
"Oh go on," she whined "Just have a little something. You don't even know what I've got yet." Harry relented, it did seem that she'd put a lot of effort into this outing. He sat as best he could on the stony ground and she joined him.
Hermione held the phone poised and ready to dial Harry's number for a second time that day. He'd think she was weird, she could imagine it now. "Hi Harry are you about to be attacked by and evil spirit?" It would sound ridiculous. But what if he was in trouble? He'd saved and protected her on many occasions - she owed him the same in return. Still unsure if she was making the correct decision she dialled the number before she could change her mind again.
"Yeah?" said an unfamiliar voice.
"Oh, hello… who is it please?" Secretly she groaned, it clearly wasn't Harry she was speaking to.
"Dudley Dursley," said the voice "Wha'd'ya want anyway?" She thought back to all she'd heard about Dudley. He was fat - that wasn't much help. He was mean - still not much help. He was also fond of TV and big explosions… she put her brain into gear.
"Hello Mr. Dursley, my name is Professor Granger and I'm from the Psychopathic Wizard Recovery Unit. Quite frankly sir, we need your help." It was a crazy idea, but it just might work.
"My help?" She suddenly had his full attention.
"Yes indeed, this is your chance to be a real hero." She tried to put as much authority into her voice as possible, which wasn't too hard given her experience as a prefect.
"Go on." In the background she heard the TV being muted or switched off.
"We have reason to believe that there is an escaped lunatic in your area - a very dangerous person. And we need to know everything that's happened recently - anything out of the ordinary. If your information checks out we can send in storm troopers to make the arrest." As she spoke she could hear curtains being twitched aside.
"I don't hear any storm troupers."
"… Of course you don't their wearing state-of-the-art electro-thermal-camouflage… stuff."
"Uh-huh… will I get a medal?"
"A medal!? Well how should I know - please Mr. Dursley, the information."
"Hmmm, well I thought I saw a ghost the other day - she was all pale and floating… and I've had a couple of weird dreams. Harry's been weird but dad say's he always is. I expect you know all about him anyway."
"Dreams Mr. Dursley?"
"- About the ghost… there was this one I had this mourning where she said she'd kill me if I woke up before eleven."
"And what did you do?"
"Slept I guess."
"Did you fall asleep or did she make you fall sleep?"
"She said she made me… But I don't know - I sleep a lot, it's because I do boxing."
"Right… okay, thanks you've been a big help." Hermione hung up and raced back upstairs. She'd heard enough - something odd was happening and she wasn't the type of person to let 'it' go on unless she understood what 'it' was.
Harry, meanwhile, was happily eating a slice of the large Victoria sponge cake Abigail had given him. It was getting colder he realised, but he could ignore it for a while longer.
"Tell me more about quiditch Harry. You must have done some pretty amazing things being seeker for the Gryffindor team." She cut another slice of cake with the bone handled knife that seemed to disappear in the same way she did when it wasn't in use. Harry took the cake and began to explain - he was sure he'd been over this before but he didn't really mind. It was getting colder he realised, but he could wait for a while longer.
Back amongst the books Hermione was at a loss. There wasn't anything she could use - not even with the new information from Harry's cousin. Downstairs she heard her mother and father return - it seemed that they were back early to sort out this convention nonsense.
"Hermione, have you eaten anything?" She ignored her mothers question and pulled another book from the pile. What she needed was access to the vast library at Hogwarts - but she doubted very much that she could even get near the castle during the holidays. There was one other place that would keep books on ghosts she decided - Diagon Alley a place that sold almost everything.
"Mum I need to go to London… … It's for school work."
"Whatever for?" said her mother who was just outside the door.
"I need to buy a book."
"Hermione you have hundreds of books."
"I broke one of them… I spilt cola on it and the ink ran."
"Well let me take a look and see what I can do to fix it." Hermione reached under her bed and grabbed the first book her hand came to. 'Hogwarts a History.' There was a half empty can on the windowsill, which she also grabbed. Hesitantly she held the can above the book… she couldn't do it - Books were important, they were practically her entire life - she couldn't just ruin one because she had a vague idea that Harry was in trouble. "Honestly Hermione, what would you rather have? Harry or a book you can replace a few weeks into term?" Defiantly she tipped the can; brown sugary liquid soaked into the pages and ran onto the floor, taking with it so many precious words.
"Hermione?"
"Okay, okay - I'll be there in a second." She rolled the now empty can under the bed and pulled the door open, holding out the sopping book.
"Hermione, are you - are you crying?" She blinked furiously.
"Honestly mum it's just a book - why would I be crying?"
A shiver ran through Harry's body, followed by another and another. He clutched at the frozen slice of cake with both hands and desperately tried to bite into it. Abigail watched him, a cruel smile arching across her pretty face. Unlike the beer, which she'd stolen from a close-to-hand muggle, she had actually made the cake herself. And in making it she'd laced it with a powerful and stupefying love potion. Combined with the freezing weather it was quickly beating down Harry's mental defences. She'd hoped to ensnare the Potter boy without having to resort to 'wizard' magic, but she had to admit the potion did have its advantages.
Harry stared through to cold, he thought he could see snow but it might just be the freezing weather playing tricks on his tired mind. He focused on the cake in his hand with pain staking effort. 'It was wrong' a part of him said, but that part seemed to be slowly perishing amongst the icy contours of his breaking mind. He had to stand, he had to drop the bloody cake and stand up. But he couldn't. If he did then Abigail would be disappointed - and if Abigail was disappointed… The mere thought sent rolling tides of pain sweeping across his body. But he was strong. The tiny voice in the back of his mind said so, it nagged and it chivvied in a voice like Hermione's, it was a comfort - a small but welcome comfort.
"Wait! What are you doing?" Abigail questioned as he slowly forced himself to his feet. He didn't look at her, if he looked the icy temptress full in the face then surely it would be the end of him; his eyes were fixed firmly ahead. "Stop it!"
"Why?" His blue lips seemed to take forever to form the single torturous syllable. Abigail flexed her long fingers into claws.
"Oh… Because I love you Harry Potter." She spoke in a fake and flunky sing-song voice, laden with sarcasm and falsehoods. With a strangled choke Harry fell to his knees - bruised and beaten.
When Harry suddenly appeared at the top of his road he wasn't sure how, or why, he'd got there. His clothes were soaking wet and the tips of his fingers stung like furry as blood returned to them. Slowly he trudged towards his house, ignoring the white and chrome monstrosity of a caravan hitched to the Dursley's car. He also ignored his uncle's demands to know where he'd been. He just carried on trudging until her reached his room where he fell asleep instantly - just as Abigail had told him to.
Hermione was also in her room, she was holding a small rectangle of paper - a return ticket to London by train. The argument with her parents had been long and hard but eventually - after much kicking and screaming on her part, although she'd never admit it, she had won. Her father had driven down to the station and got her the ticket whilst her mother had coaxed her into drinking cups of sugary tea. Sometimes she felt guilty for using her parents in such a way, but not tonight - it was necessary, it was for Harry.