Undo, Retry
Chapter
2
by Olafr -
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and associated milieu, characters, and situations are owned by J.K. Rowling and her licensees. This is a work of fan fiction, produced solely for enjoyment. No infringement of rights is intended.
Rating: PG (so far)
Last updated: 1 December 2004.
Author's Notes: An invitation to Hogwarts.
oOoOoOo
Under the warm sun and clear sky of a early summer's day, the houses of Privet Drive slumbered. All was quiet, except for Mr Jameson of Number 8, who was mowing his well-kept lawn with a push-mower.
In the cupboard under the stairs, Harry sat, contemplating his wand. Years of handling it had worn the sharp edges of his unskilled whilttling down into almost satin smoothness, and darkened the handle into a mellow tan. The body of the wand remained a the colour of light honey, however.
At least he had eventually made it work. It had taken him six months, and five clandestine visits to the local library to remind himself about meditation and visualisation techniques, but he had at last managed to use his wand to perform reliable, controllable magic. Although it was really only this year that he had managed to build up his power to anything like it had been before.
Before his trip back in time. Before the Universe had been reset. Or whatever damn thing had happened. Because things were different, this time. Tremendously different.
He certainly hadn't known about magic last time. Last time, the cupboard under the stairs hadn't been the size of the Gryffindor common room (and decorated like a merger between the dorm and the common room). Last time, he had been victimised, abused, and neglected. Last time, he had been a victim.
Now, though, he had been able to use his magic to cast a congeniality charm on all three Dursleys. He regretted the necessity – it was not really legal, and not really ethical either – but he knew what was coming, and he could not afford the distraction or the loss of time being downtrodden and victimised.
In retrospect, though, perhaps it had been a case of the end truly justifying the means. The four of them formed a happy family... well, kind of. But even if they weren't a loving family as such, things were at least shared around. Dudley was a little spoiled and indulged, but he wasn't fat, had a normal range of friends, and moreover got along okay with Harry even if they weren't exactly friends. Vernon was more successful than last time; his more congenial nature meant he made less enemies. And Petunia was the core of a Neighborhood Watch organisation, worked with the local Vicar, and was generally happy with her role in the community.
All of which meant that through one borderline-legal act, Harry had made the lives of his family much, much better. They were happier and more successful.
And most of all, Harry was properly fed and his achievement at school wasn't suppressed, and he wasn't the target of wandering gangs – in fact there weren't any gangs at all that he knew of. All in all, it was a much happier existence.
When they had gone to the zoo for Dudley's eleventh birthday just yesterday, they had had a wonderful time. Dudley had gone mad trying out his new camera, using up four rolls of film learning how to use the sophisticated SLR his father had bought him. The camera had been his main gift, with a book from Harry and two shirts from his mother. What a contrast to his previous life, if one could call it that.
Now, though, the day had come which Harry had been anticipating all these years. The day when his life would change. Today was the day when his invitation to Hogwarts would come.
'Harry! Lunch!' Aunt Petunia called. Getting up from the overstuffed sofa that he had been sitting in, Harry slipped his wand into his pocket and left the extraordinarily spacious cupboard under the stairs. As he crossed the floor of the magically-enlarged room, Harry mentally checked the disinterest ward which layered over the doorway. It was still holding up well, and wouldn't need renewing until he left for Hogwarts.
As he closed the small door with its slanted top, he saw that the mail had arrived. Smiling, he picked it up and sorted through it briefly. He smiled in gratification. It was here.
'The mail is here, Aunt Petunia,' said Harry. Putting the remainder of the mail down on the tabletop, Harry took the letter addressed to him and sat down before opening it.
'You can call me mum if you like, Harry,' said Petunia. 'Thanks for getting the mail.'
'What do you have there, Harry?' asked Vernon, looking up from his review of Dudley's photographs from yesterday. He had been going through them slowly with Dudley, discussing each one.
'A letter,' he said, putting on a puzzled voice. 'It's addressed to me.'
'Oh, really?' asked Petunia as she put down a plate of sandwiches in the centre of the table. 'Who's it from? Is it from that lovely girl, Wendy, maybe?' she continued in a teasing voice.
'Your guuurrl-friend!' taunted Dudley with a good-natured grin.
'No!' shouted Harry, embarrassed. He made a show of turning the letter over, looking at it. 'There's no postmark, and it's addressed to "The Cupboard Under The Stairs". I've never shown Wendy my room, so it can't be her.' He grinned to himself at his cleverness, even as the adult part of his mind groaned at the annoying precocity of the statement.
Harry watched out of the corner of his eye as Petunia and Vernon exchanged a meaningful glance.
'Harry,' said Vernon in his command voice, 'leave that for the moment and open it after lunch. Petunia and I would like to talk to you before you do.'
oOoOoOo
After lunch, Vernon and Petunia dispatched Dudley to visit one of his friends and sat down with Harry in the loungeroom. For a time there was a strained silence until Harry could finally restrain himself no longer.
'So... what's this about?' he asked. 'What's so special about this letter?' He gestured at the letter concerned, which sat, unopened, on the coffee table between them. 'Why can't I open it? It's addressed to me so it's my letter, isn't it?' He wound down at the sight of Petunia holding her hands up in a 'stop' motion.
'Nobody's saying you can't open the letter, Harry,' she said. 'It's just that I wanted you to wait untiil Dudley was gone. You see, even though the three of us know that you're a wizard, because your parents were, Dudley doesn't. And I'd prefer it if he didn't know, either.'
Harry stared at Aunt Petunia in understanding. He'd never said anything to them, and they'd never said anything to him, not since he settled down and stopped doing 'accidental' magic on them. He'd put the notice-me-not charm on the doorway to the cupboard under the stairs in anticipation of visitors, not because of Dudley, but it had unexpectedly served as well for that purpose.
'Oh,' he said at length. 'I think I see. So Dudley doesn't know? How can that be? Doesn't Dudley remember how things were before?'
Both Dursleys looked a little guilty. 'We told him he had imagined it,' said Petunia. She looked embarrassed, but also determined.
'When you were left here, Harry,' added Vernon, 'there was a note which said you were a wizard. That note also said that you were enrolled in Hogwarts and would be receiving a letter about now.'
'Oh,' said Harry. 'Good.' He looked at the envelope uncertainly, continuing to play his part. 'Only... what's Hogwarts?'
Vernon and Petunia shared a glance, and Petunia said, 'Why don't you open your letter and find out?'
Harry nodded and gathered the envelope to himself, cracked the wax seal and opened the letter. It was exactly the same as before. Paging through the equipment list, Harry decided to use this opportunity to get his equipment as soon as possible.
'It gives an equipment list here, and uniforms. We have to get them from a place called Diagon Alley in London. It's near...' and Harry paused to fake looking up the letter again, '...Charing Cross. Can we go?'
'Yes, of course. But we can't go today, it's a two hour drive to London, and besides, it's Sunday. Everything'll be closed,' said Uncle Vernon.
Harry was about to protest that wizard shopkeepers wouldn't let a little thing like Sunday Trading laws keep them from selling something, but kept his mouth shut just in time.
'This letter asks for a reply by Owl. Where do you think I could...?' Harry was now getting a little worried, fishing for a way to get to Diagon Alley.
'There's one sitting on my car!' Vernon said, somewhat annoyed.
'Oh, it'll be waiting for your reply,' said Petunia calmly. Vernon looked at her oddly, but Harry smiled and nodded.
'May I have some paper so I can write an acceptance, then, please?'
'It's something that should be done by the parents... or in this case, us, Harry. I'll do it,' said Petunia. Now both Harry and Vernon stared at her openly.
'Errr... Thank you,' said Harry at last.
'Was there nothing else?' prompted Petunia. 'Anything about a guide?'
Shocked more than surprised, Harry riffled through the sheets of parchment again. He found a short letter he hadn't seen before.
Dear Mr Potter,
Hogwarts realises that it can be difficult for those not raised in the Wizarding world to come to grips with their new world at first. Therefore we offer orientations to students such as yourself, should you wish to avail yourself of them. This is highly recommended.
Orientations will be held on Tuesday 30 July, Thursday 1 August, Tuesday 6 August, Thursday 8 August, and every day from 23-31 August this year. Orientations meet in the front lobby of Charing Cross Railway Station promptly at 10:00am.
Please indicate in your acceptance letter whether you wish to avail yourself of an orientation, and if so, when.
Sincerely,
Prof. M. McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Having read the note, Harry passed it over to Petunia without comment. After reading it she nodded. 'Good, I'll write that note now and send it off. I'll ask that you go on the first orientation since you're so keen, Harry.'
oOoOoOo
Dear Professor McGonagall,
Harry Potter will be delighted to attend Hogwarts commencing this year. He has expressed great eagerness and asks to go on the first of the offered orientations.
When we discussed this earlier this year, you said that Harry was left a trust fund by his parents to pay for his schooling, and that it would not necessary for me to attend the orientation. I wish to confirm that these arrangements are still in place.
Yours,
Petunia Dursley
oOoOoOo
Dear Mrs Dursley,
As we discussed in March, Harry does indeed have a trust fund from his parents and will be given access to it during the orientation tour. This fund will pay for his tuition, fees, books, supplies, and spending money, so you will not have to worry about that.
I also confirm that it will not be necessary for you to attend the orientation with Harry. If you put him on a train to Charing Cross, he will be met at the other end and returned directly home at the end of the day. He will purchase his school books and supplies during the day, so he will return home with a trunk which will need to be stored until school begins.
Finally, just a reminder that Harry's maintenance stipend will halve during the months he is at Hogwarts since he will not need to be fed, housed, or clothed during that time. It will of course return to normal during the Summer months, when Harry will be at home with you.
I remain in your service,
Prof M. McGonagall
oOoOoOo
At 8:16am the following Tuesday, Harry watched as the doors closed on the train that was to take him to Charing Cross. Actually, it was a train bound for Waterloo, where he would change trains to finish the journey to Charing Cross. He should get there with about ten minutes to spare, according to Aunt Petunia.
The train was busy. Most of the people on the train wore business suits or other work clothing of one kind or another. Harry was lucky enough to get a seat, and he watched the suburbs flow past, gradually becoming denser and taller as they worked their way inwards from the outer suburban area of Little Whinging, which was actually almost a part of Greater London (but not quite, according to Uncle Vernon), towards the centre of the city. Interestingly, people began to get off as they came closer to the tall part of London, and although the train remained busy the character of the people on the train changed. Business suits and school children gave way to mothers going shopping and people on a hundred different errands. One rather staid-looking man nearby Harry read from a paperback book, ignoring the world around him as he sat, worlds away in his pinstripe suit with his leather briefcase perched upon his lap. Given that they would arrive at Waterloo somewhat after nine o'clock, Harry assumed that either the man was late, or perhaps his job was not very demanding.
After almost getting lost at Waterloo – it turned out that not only did he have to change trains, he had to change stations, something that involved a ten-minute walk – Harry made it to Charing Cross Station. He stepped out of the train and made his way down the stairs and found himself in a tunnel with Exit signs at each end. Taking a chance, he turned left and could see nobody recognisable. Retracing his steps, he went to the other side of the station and there, in the plaza, he saw a lady he recognised holding a sign which said, Hogwarts. It as Professor McGonagall. He made his way through the crowd to her without her noticing.
'Hello,' he said, 'I'm Harry Potter.'