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Harry Potter and the Eyes of Truth
Written by: Maudlin
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company belong to J.K. Rowling. I have merely stolen them, locked them in my mind, and am controlling their every move.
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Chapter Three
Pick a Card, Any Card
It's bloody hard sometimes, to wake up and wish to be dead but to end up living out the day just as much alive as the day before. I live just to exist. To the wizarding world, I am always the same hero as I was fourteen-years-ago. I never change. I'm the idol to the young wizards of my world. But I don't just want to be here walking across the earth as an example, a pitiful picture in the Daily Prophet for fan girls to gawk at. I don't just want to be the boy-who-lived. I want to be Harry Potter, simply that. Honestly, is that too much to ask for? I want to be known as the awkward Harry, the seeker Harry, the Auror Harry. Not the bloody boy-who-lived!
I want a clean slate. I want to start over. I want everything to change for the better. I want my mum and dad alive and here with me. I want Sirius's name to be wiped clean—I want Sirius to be alive. I want Ron and Hermione to still be my mates. I want to be a simple wizard. No pressing matters for me to attend to. No Dark Lord for me to annihilate. I want to be normal. I want to be Harry Potter.
I want to be Harry Potter…
Just Harry Potter…
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"A little to the left. A little more…that's it! Right there! Set 'er down, Harry," Henry huffed a sturdy command as the two gently set down a long, floral sofa along the wall of the living room. They both straightened up and let out a relieved sigh, rubbing the small of their backs.
Harry had been forced by the Dursleys to be over at the Grants just after nine in the morning. Consequently, no one at the neighbor's house was even awake yet so Harry had quietly lounged around on the veranda. By one o'clock, little Elizabeth had stumbled out the door, still in her nightgown, to retrieve the newspaper. She ended up tripping over a napping Harry, startling him awake, and dragging the groggy boy back inside the house. Harry spent the next forty minutes listening to Elizabeth ramble about the cutest boys she had ever seen in America, on the tele, in England, and the like. He was rescued by Emma who led him to the cardboard box-filled kitchen, giggling like a hyena, and offered him a bowl of cereal, ignoring the fact that they should have probably been eating lunch instead of breakfast food. Henry came along not long after and immediately put Harry to work, lugging boxes and setting up the furniture in the living room.
Henry looked down at the sofa, which they had been fighting with for the last fifteen minutes, and said, thoughtfully, "You know, this has got to be the ugliest sofa that I have ever laid eyes on. If Eliza didn't like the blasted thing so much I would have thrown it out a long time ago." Harry laughed, agreeing. The couch was ugly. The floral print was large and bright, the trim was shabby, and the cushions had little holes that looked like that had been eaten by rabid moths. Nevertheless, it was inviting and the two males were soon sinking into the worn cushions, sighing with ecstasy.
After a few minutes of silence, Harry looked over to Henry and distractedly asked, "Why did you want me to help you? Why not Dudley? I'm the troublemaker, you know."
The older man chuckled and replied, "You don't have to lie to me, son. Your uncle is a prick. You know it. I know it. The whole damn world knows it….excuse my French." He looked, apologetically at Harry, and scratched his fuzzy chin. He continued with a shrug, "When I saw you, I knew that Vernon was forcing you to lie. You are an orphan that he was forced to take into his home, right? That's what I got out of the conversation at least. He doesn't talk much about you…politely anyway. He's a scumbag if you ask me."
Harry stared in sudden admiration. He was growing more attached to this man by the minute—any man who is bold enough to put-down his uncle can't be all that bad. Harry smiled and motioned around the room at the closed boxes, "Is there anything else that I can help you with?"
Henry exhaled, thoughtfully, and scratched his chin, a motion which was apparently a habit of his. "Naw," he finally answered, "I think we've broken our backs enough for one day."
"I guess…I'll be going then," Harry stood up and made to leave.
"What's your hurry son? Do you want to go back to the Dursleys so soon?" Henry quickly said.
Harry turned around and said, "I don't want to intrude."
"Nonsense, Harry! It's no problem at all," Henry chuckled and added in a low whisper, "I'll have you know that living with two girls gets old after a while. I could use some male bonding time and I think you could use a vacation."
A smile stretched across Harry's lips as a sigh of relief escaped from his mouth. Henry obviously caught wind of this action and he let out a hoot of laughter, shaking his head at some joke that Harry couldn't seem to grasp. "What's so funny?" Harry asked, frowning at the laughing fool.
"Nothing, son, nothing at all," Henry smiled. "You just seemed so relieved is all. Did you honestly think I was draggin' you over here just for cheap labor? I guess I'm a better actor than I first thought."
"I don't understand you, sir," Harry bluntly stated and caused another round of laughter from Henry. Harry looked at the older man with a blank stare until a tap on the shoulder made him look behind him. Emma stood behind him, looking up at him with embarrassment in her face and motioned for him to follow. They walked through the house and eventually out onto the back veranda. They could still hear Mr. Grant's laughter from outside.
Emma took a seat in one of the few wicker rocking chairs before explaining, "If you haven't noticed, my old man is a bit weird."
"Yeah, I noticed," Harry sat down as well. "Does he always laugh like that?"
"Mostly. He has this zany sense of humor. He'll laugh at just about anything you say or do. He can be serious though, like yesterday. He was an actor when he was younger—performing in traveling troupes and stuff. But that was before he met my mother. After that he settled down and turned into the crazy nut job he is today," she explained in great length.
Emma Grant was a short girl, about a head shorter than Harry. She was neither skinny nor plump; rather she had an athletic look to her. She has short, wild brown hair, and deep hazel eyes that watched every movement all around her. Her skin was tan, since she probably spent a lot of time outside participating in some sport or another.
She smiled again. Everyone in her family smiled so often, almost unnaturally often. To Harry, it was eerie how cheerful this family of muggles was. All the muggles he had ever been around were pushy and completely full of themselves. The Grants were definitely a change of pace for him.
"I'm sorry about lunch yesterday. I shouldn't have pushed you like I did. You did…catch my drift, though, right?" Emma carefully asked.
He nodded, "I did."
"What a relief!" Emma sighed, putting a hand to her heart, "I was sure you were going to be mad at me for saying all those rude things about you. Eliza had come home and was talking about you constantly and then my father had a talk with Vernon and he got all mad—my dad not Vernon, mind you. Then my father decided that we were going to spend some time with you and Dudley. He just didn't like the way Vernon sounded on the phone. This was probably a little mean, now that I think about it. But thank goodness he doesn't like Dudley. That porker was one foul cockroach." Emma huffed finally, her face scrunched up in a childish pout.
Harry chuckled, "You talk a lot. You and your sister both."
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Emma quickly apologized. "I can stop talking as much if you want me to. It's no problem at all. I mean—"
"No. It's all right. I'm just not…used to it. The Dursleys are a quiet bunch," he retorted just as hastily. Emma was quiet. As if she was weary to start talking again. Harry suddenly felt the urge to cheer her up and said, "So your father's an actor, huh? Do you like to perform, too?"
She replied, "I do, but in a different way than my father does." She leaned back in the chair and rocked gently. Harry soon rocked along with her as well. The rocking was soothing, almost hypnotic, not to mention it felt wonderful on his aching bones.
"Then how?" Harry asked again. He was half-annoyed and half-curious. His patience had been cut in half after working the past couple of hours. This was bad news for everyone. An angry Harry meant no good for anybody.
"I perform with magic," Emma smiled, gleefully.
His curiosity was sparked. He stopped rocking and leaned forward in his seat, asking expectantly, "Then, are you a witch?"
Emma's eyes flew open as she replied, "Good heaven's no! I don't do all that black magic, hocus pocus, sorcery stuff. I perform illusions. Some are basic little slight of hand tricks, and others are so complex that no one can see through them. Not even you, Mister Harry." She winked.
He felt a little disappointed at her answer and his eyes turned to his lap. He stared at his hands in a numb manner, growing agitated at himself for feeling so disappointed over something so trivial.
"I guess you don't like magic tricks, then, huh?" Emma said in a quiet voice, her face downcast. She seemed to shrink right before Harry's eyes. Emma turned into a small little girl being reprimanded by an adult.
Harry honestly felt like a fool. Why did he always make people feel so horrible? Why does he always have to hurt everyone around him? It's always Ron and Hermione and everyone else at Hogwarts and now he's hurting his neighbors too. Everywhere he goes, pain is sure to follow. Harry Potter the destroyer…
"No," Harry whispered, "I love magic. Erm…I guess my brain is a little foggy after working all day."
Emma frowned, "I see." An uncomfortable blanket of silence fell on them. They both looked away from each other, not making any eye contact. Of course, the silence didn't last long. It was nearly impossible for Emma Grant to keep her mouth closed over a period of time.
"How about a bit of magic to cheer you up, Harry?" Emma asked with a huge smile gracing her face once more.
"Sure. Why not?" He replied, nonchalantly.
She giggled and dug through her pockets before pulling out a small, red and white checkered colored box. From it, she pulled a crisp deck of cards. She fanned them out for Harry to see, happily explaining, "From this ordinary deck of cards I will perform a remarkable feat of magic that is so extraordinary that it'll be sure to knock the socks right off of you!"
Harry couldn't help but to chuckle to himself. The expression on Emma's face was downright priceless. She had the biggest grin on her face and her hazel eyes were so lit up that they rivaled even the brightness of the sun. The mischievous expression reminded him of no other than a couple of twins handing out their newest prank to unexpected first years, knowing fully well what the candy was going to do. They took pride in amusing others and, Harry concluded, so did Emma. Though, her little magic tricks were probably a little less harmful to one's health.
"I need an assistant from the audience," Emma faked a glance around the patio before looking at Harry with a look of genuine surprise, "How about you, kind sir? Step right on up!" Harry laughed and covered his face to cover his laughter. "Don't be shy! Why don't you go on ahead and shuffle these cards, eh?" She hands them to Harry and he quickly shuffles them for her.
Emma clears her throat and heartily explains loudly, "Pick a card, any card! Don't show it to me either! You know how it goes!" After he picks out a card, Emma takes three cards from the bottom, without looking at them, and asks for him to place his mystery card on top of the three. She places them back in the deck and shuffles a few times. Quietly, with a look of hard concentration, she takes the bottom card and places it on a table next to her. Then she took the new bottom card and placed it at the top of the deck and placed the other two cards face down on the table and set the rest of the deck aside.
She picks up the three cards and squares them up and holds them up for Harry to see the bottom card. "Is this your card sir?"
"It isn't, no," Harry frowned.
"No? Well that's quite a bummer," Emma frowned and fanned them out, putting the card down onto the table next to her. Harry sighed, suddenly growing a bit annoyed. He couldn't see where magic was involved in this.
Frowning, Emma lowers the cards into a dealing position and naturally places a card down onto the table. She then shows Harry the last two cards in her hand and they both turn out not to be his.
"Well, sir, what was your card?" Emma asked.
"The three of spades. Honestly, though, this is impossible, Emma." Harry annoyingly said.
"Hold your horses, sir, I'm sure I can cook something up," She uses the last two cards as a spatula and flips over one of the cards on the table.
She shows Harry the bottom card of the remaining, "Lookie here! The three of spades!" Harry gaped at his card in confusion
They spend the rest of the afternoon in this manner with each card trick becoming more and more puzzling to him. At one point, Henry and Elizabeth wandered out onto the patio and joined in on the fun. Around seven or so, they ate dinner and Harry was sent on his way, but not without a ten pound note and a hopeful invitation for the next day.
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Dear Ron,
That's great news! Or I think so anyway. The muggles aren't so bad, Ron. A family of muggles moved in next door and they aren't horrible at all. Not to mention the oldest daughter is definitely easy on the eyes.
Harry
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Dear Hermione,
Don't worry about me, Hermione. Hedwig can be a bit pushy at times, but I have a feeling she won't be for much longer. Anyway, Ron said he talked to you about a trip to Diagon Alley for me birthday. I'll speak to the muggles over breakfast tomorrow and send you two an answer.
Harry
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Author's Note: I'm really, really, really, really, really, really sorry for the long wait. I had exams at school, family issues, health issues, and all sorts of stuff that got in the way. I'm on summer vacation and ideas for this story are just pouring in so I'll be updating more frequently now. I'd say…about once or twice a week if I can.
