Bad Days Get Better
Darqstar (thedarqstar@wmconnect.com)
In the summer, Harry Potter lived at Number 4 Privet drive, the same place in which he had grown up most of his life. It was a typical house, on a rather typical street. No one on the street knew, or even suspected that one of the folks who lived in #4 was far from typical. In fact, if they knew him better,most folks would have considered Harry Potter to be - extraordinary.
It wasn't his appearance; he was a rather small and skinny lad with jet-black hair, which almost always looked tousled, even right after he had just combed it. His eyes were a very bright green and covered mostly by round glasses. The only thing unusual about his looks was the scar on his forehead, which was shaped like a lightning bolt.
It was the rather unusual scar itself, that seemed to be the key to finding out all that was extraordinary about young Harry Potter. For the scar did not come from an automobile accident, as Harry had grown up believing, but instead, from a struggle with a powerful with whom Harry had the bad luck to tangle when he was barely a year old. Harry's parents themselves had been wizards and were killed by the same man who had given Harry this distinguishing feature.
What was perhaps a little more extraordinary, was that for his first eleven years, Harry had no idea that his parents had been wizards, or that they had been killed by the same one who had been thwarted by him, a year-old boy. It wasn't until he was eleven that the truth came out. Now he knew who his parents were and even attended Hogwarts School of Magic and Witchcraft.
Yes, all in all, Harry Potter was an extraordinary child. However, on this morning, he felt far from extraordinary. In fact, he felt downright unextrordinary and rather upset.
To say it hadn't been a good morning would be a gross understatement. His Uncle Vernon had awakened him very early, to "help in the yard." Which, actually meant, "Harry did all the work, while Uncle Vernon stood around and barked orders at him." Occasionally, his Aunt Petunia came out to whisper in her husband's ear that Harry really wasn't showing a lot of effort and she so needed the bushes trimmed, the garden weeded, the grass mowed, the flowers fertilized and watered, by ten o'clock, at the latest. This would lead to Uncle Vernon screaming louder, his large, beefy face turning even redder as he ordered Harry to "pick up the pace!"
"Not so proud when you're out of that.. place!" he barked at Harry. Uncle Vernon would never dream of calling Hogwarts by its proper name. The Dursleys were muggles (folks who had no magic blood in them.) In fact, they were probably the most muggliest muggles the world had ever seen. Hermione Granger, a close friend of Harry's once joked that the way Harry described them, she half expected to see their picture in the Wizard and Witches Dictionary under muggle and the definition - See Dursleys. It wasn't far from the truth. The Dursleys not only were Muggles, they hated anything and everything that even slightly hinted at magic. So, of course, they despised Harry.
"Nothing to use now but good-old fashioned sweat and muscle," Uncle Vernon continued to drone. "Teach you a lesson. One you've never learned, boy. If you want to make your way in this world, you need to work, work, work. Put some muscle in it, we haven't got all day!"
Yeah, you're putting a lot of work into it yourself, standing and watching me! Harry thought, but would never say. It would almost have been worth the punishment from the Ministry of Magic just to do--something to Uncle Vernon. Preferably something that would render him mute forever. But, using magic outside of school was strictly forbidden for underage wizards like himself. Giving into temptation could cause Harry to be expelled, and staying with the Dursleys all the time was about the last thing in the world Harry wanted. So he gritted his teeth and kept working.
The only thin slice of good in the whole mess was that Dudley, the Dursleys' son, didn't roll his way out of bed until about nine-thirty. And roll was a literal term, because Dudley had gone beyond the realm of "chunky," slid past the distinction of "husky" and settled firmly in the realm of "hugely fat." So, for two and a half hours, at least Harry didn't have to put up with him. But, even the smallest of good things come to and end, and eventually, Dudley did arise, (with the size of the boy, his stomach probably rumbled and shook him awake.) Being Dudley, he didn't waste any time in going outside to join Uncle Vernon in shouting orders.
"You missed a spot, Harry!" Dudley bellowed, his voice sounding strained as it had to escape its way out of all that blubber he called a neck. "Gotta get that fertilizer nice and even!"
Harry hated weekends. At least during the week, they had breakfast earlier and Uncle Vernon would go to work. But the weekends were rather hellish with all three of them around.
Aunt Petunia didn't call them for breakfast until 10:00, once Harry was done. "Hardly seems fair," Dudley had whined, "We have to wait until Harry finishes his chores before we can eat!"
"I know it isn't fair, my precious Duddums," Aunt Petunia gushed. (No matter what Dudley ever said, even if it was complaining, Aunt Petunia seemed to consider it gold to her ears.) "But Daddy has to watch him to make sure he gets his work done. But he's finally finished and now we can have a nice breakfast."
"Nice breakfast" was not quite what Harry would have called it. Dudley's weight problem had been a constant thorn in Harry's side since summer began. Dudley's school had decided that Dudley didn't just have a case of baby fat, or big bones, as Aunt Petunia would have the world believe. They saw the truth; Dudley was about the size and weight of a baby elephant, and sadly enough, not nearly as cute. Serious notes and a strict diet had been sent home with the boy and although Aunt Petunia wailed that they weren't very fair, she knew a threat when she saw one. The Days of Starvation were on, for Aunt Petunia insisted that if Dudley was on a diet, the whole family must be on one as well, even Harry, who was in more danger of being underweight than overweight.
Weekends though, were one time that Petunia allowed Dudley a little more food to eat. (The times during the week when he was sneaking out of the house and buying donuts and soda, didn't seem to count.) "Everyone needs a reward for good behavior, Duddums," she would gush. So, today's breakfast was a half a grapefruit, vs. the normal quarter, and a half a piece of whole-wheat toast. Since Aunt Petunia divided one piece for Dudley and Harry, Harry's was more of a third of a piece of toast. Fortunately for Harry, he had asked his friends from Hogwarts for help during the days of starvation and they rose to the occasion, as he knew they would. Under the lose floorboard in his room was quite a nice stash of snacks and foods.
He got through his meager breakfast by concentrating his thoughts on the real food he'd have upstairs as soon as it was over. He wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to what the Dursley's were doing, until Aunt Petunia looked up and shrieked, "What is that?"
He looked over at her and saw her pointing at the window, into the back yard, where she had obviously been looking out, hoping to catch on of the neighbors up to something. Instead, she obviously had seen something else, because she didn't look at all happy.
Rising from his seat, Harry went over and looked out the window. Lying on the grass Harry had just mowed was a large owl. Harry knew the owl at once. "Errol!" he cried out, as he ran from the kitchen, out the back door. Errol was the Weasleys' owl, which was quite old and tired, but not --Harry hoped--quite dead. Ron Weasley was Harry's best friend who also attended Hogwarts. Since Harry was rather fond of the Weasley family, he really didn't want to have their owl die on a delivery to his house.
Harry was so intent on checking up on Errol, that he never noticed Uncle Vernon turn beet red and shout after him, "Now where d'you think you're going?"
Fortunately for Harry (and for the Weasleys') Errol wasn't dead, he was merely exhausted from his long flight. He was clutching a letter and a package, which Harry slid under his sweatshirt before carrying Errol in the house.
When he got inside, the Dursleys were staring at him as if he were holding something far more dangerous than an exhausted owl. "What have you got?" Uncle Vernon roared.
"Uhm.. an owl," Harry explained, trying to sound casual, as if every typical family regularly had large owls passing out on their lawns. "He's tired, I'm going to take him upstairs and let him rest before sending him--"
"You will not!" Uncle Vernon roared so loud that Errol actually raised his head for a moment, before letting it flop over Harry's arm. "That thing looks dangerous!"
Harry stared down at Errol in disbelief. With his bedraggled feathers and closed eyes, Errol looked about as far from dangerous as a creature could get. "He's not dangerous, he's just tired. I'm taking him up to rest."
"You will do no such thing!" Uncle Vernon shouted. "One owl in the house is bad enough!" Vernon was referring to Hedwig, the owl that Hagrid the grounds keeper of Hogwarts bought him for his eleventh birthday. The Dursleys hated Hedwig and tried to keep her locked in her cage as much as possible. Harry had to send her out at night to deliver letters to his friends from school. Unhappy with being cooped up so much, Hedwig hooted in complaint quite often, and that bothered Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia considerably. "The last thing we need is another, crying about--"
"Errol won't be here for long," Harry interrupted, before Uncle Vernon could go off on another rant about owls and Hedwig in general. "He's just tired and needs a little rest. He's too exhausted to make any noise and once he's feeling better, he's gone, I promise!"
"He's not going to have a chance to feel better!" Uncle Vernon roared. Aunt Petunia just scowled and Dudley looked positively delighted to once again, see Harry getting yelled at. "Because he's not staying!"
"He has to stay!" Harry said. He was beginning to get frantic, afraid that Uncle Vernon would force him to put Errol out without letting him have a good rest. He'd be easy prey for the neighborhood cats and dogs, unable to fly. He thought quickly and settled on a half-truth. Harry wasn't normally the type of boy who lied, but in this case, he considered it for a good cause. "Errol needs to send a return message to…someone. If I don't write a message and let him send it back… someone will be worried."
That stopped Uncle Vernon's yelling, and it wasn't really a lie at all. He did want to send Errol with a message, but it was the someone that worried the Dursleys. Harry meant the Weasleys, the Dursleys thought he meant Sirius Black, who was Harry's godfather. Harry had only met him last year when Black escaped from prison. The Dursleys knew he was a wanted criminal, they even knew that it was Harry who had helped him escape recapture. What the Dursleys didn't know, (because Harry didn't bother to tell them) was that Sirius was innocent. Life with the Dursleys was hard enough, especially now that they knew he wasn't allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts (as they'd learned his second year thanks to the attentions of a misguided house elf named Dobby). If the thought of a dangerous criminal "checking up on Harry" made it so life was a little easier, then it was worth it, at least to Harry.
"Fine," Uncle Vernon's extremely red face gave a better indication that it was not really "fine" at all, but something he felt he had to resign to. "Let the stupid creature rest then. But get him out and returning with his message as fast as possible!"
"He might need some time," Harry said. "But I'll need some time to write my letter."
"Just get out of my sight!" Uncle Vernon roared.
Harry wasted no time, but practically ran from the room and up the stairs to the smallest bedroom in the house, where he shut the door behind him, grateful that no one had seemed to notice the rather large lump under his sweatshirt. Fortunately, the shirt was one outgrown by Dudley, so there was a lot of room, but being so skinny, if he'd stayed downstairs much longer, they might have asked how he managed to put on a few pounds, in a perfectly square lump.
He made Errol as comfortable as possible in Hedwig's cage, something which did far from please her, and she made several disdainful noises. True owls, in her opinion, did not collapse in an exhausted heap on the lawn, when they were delivering messages. "Cut Errol some slack," Harry suggested, stroking the top of her head. Hedwig permitted Harry's attentions to soothe her figuratively and literally ruffled feathers. "He's old and tired." He put the package and the letter on the bed, ignoring them until Errol was at least sitting up and taking a drink from Hedwig's cup.
Once Errol was settled, he turned his attention back to the letter and the package. He opened the thick, cream-colored envelope first. Inside it was a huge birthday card, signed by everyone in the Weasley family, and a letter.
With a shock, Harry realized that today was his fourteenth birthday. The Dursleys never remembered it, so that wasn't a surprise. But somehow, he had forgotten it as well. In the blurring, boring Days of the Dursleys, as he often thought of his summer vacation, his birthday had gone right out of his head. Obviously though, the Weasleys had remembered.
He opened the letter next. It was from Ron. Dear Harry, They changed the Quidditch World Cup to Australia, so Dad's unable to get tickets. Next time, he'll get them for sure, he says.
Harry felt his heart sinking in his chest. Quidditch was the Wizard world's answer to professional sports. Played on a broomstick, it was easily the most popular game among Wizards and Witches. While Harry played Quidditch himself, (he was a Seeker) on the Gryffindor team at Hogwarts, he had never seen a professional game played before, and had been looking forward to this since Ron mentioned his Dad was trying to get tickets. "Great," He muttered. "Now I'm probably stuck here for every bit of summer."
Reading on, he felt immediately better.
But don't get too down about it. Mom and Dad say you can come to our place, if you want, for the rest of the summer. Just send the word with Errol and we'll pick you up as soon as we get it. There's a tonic for Errol in the package that should get him going faster. If that doesn't work, send your owl.
No, it wasn't the Quidditch World Cup, but the Weasleys were a lot more fun than the Dursleys and actually seemed to enjoy his company. He wasted no time in opening the box, which besides an owl tonic contained a large, festively decorated birthday cake. He gave Errol the tonic, which brought him around in no time. The message he scribbled to Ron was short.
Dear Ron, Yes! I'd love to visit, if it's okay with your folks. Things here are pretty bad as usual. I'm sure the Dursleys would love to see me gone early too.
He folded up the note and tied it to Errol's leg and sent him off. Hedwig ruffled her feathers indignantly at being rejected while Harry chose to send this... inferior owl to deliver messages.
"Don't complain," Harry said, grinning, now that he knew the Days of the Dursleys would soon be over. "He's the Weasleys' owl. It makes sense to send him back."
Still smiling, he went downstairs to tell the Dursleys he was going. Well, he didn't tell them, he asked them. But if they had said no, he would have found a way to go anyway. But, as he expected, the Dursleys weren't too upset with the idea. The only thing that bothered Uncle Vernon was how they were going to arrive.
"Will they send a car around to pick you up?" he wanted to know.
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?"
The worried look on his Aunt and Uncle's faces made him smile even more.
Later that day, more owls arrived with further birthday surprises, from Hermione, Hagrid, and other people Harry knew from Hogwarts. The most interesting present though, came delivered by an exotic tropical bird, and was from Harry's godfather, Sirius Black. Wrapped in soft gold paper, Harry unwrapped it to find what looked like a tiny, glass cube with silver around the edges. He held it up, and looked at it, wondering what it was. It seemed like nothing more than what it appeared, but Harry knew better. He checked the box it came in again, and found a small note written in Sirius' writing.
This is a memory cube. Clear your mind from other distractions and look at it. I think you'll like what you see.
He picked up the cube again and held it in his palm. He forced himself not to think about anything, but just to concentrate on the cube.
For what seemed like a long time, nothing happened. Then, inside the cube, what looked like blue-white smoke began swirling around. He watched that with interest as it curled through the cube. After a moment of that, it cleared and Harry's eyes widened.
He was looking at the Hogwarts Quidditch field, but it didn't look quite the same, as Harry knew it. Two teams lined the fields, one in the Gryffindor's red robes, the other in the Slytherin green. He brought the cube up closer to his eyes, to see the players better. As he raised it up, the cube seemed to grow larger, until it was as if he were watching a 19" television, yet it still fit in the palm of his hand. He could see the players now, and none of them looked very familiar, until he saw the Gryffindor Seeker.
It was James Potter, Harry's father. Spellbound, Harry watched the game, as if it were being played right before his eyes, instead of a memory from years ago. He saw as both teams fought hard, the score tying for most of the game, until finally, James Potter swooped down amazingly fast, and captured the tiny, gold winged ball known as the Snitch, which earned Gryffendor 150 points, and ended the game with their victory.
He watched the cube again, this time turning it as he watched it. He noted that as he turned it, he could see the game from different angles. Holding it up so it was at eye level, he could even see his mother, cheering for his father in the stands. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting off the sudden lump that appeared in his throat. When he opened his eyes again, the cube again seemed to be made of glass.
"Thank you, Sirius," he whispered. Harry was grateful for all his gifts, but somehow it was always the adults who truly watched over him who gave him the gifts he would treasure the most. His first birthday gift had been Hedwig, from Hagrid. Headmaster Dumbledore had given Harry his father's cloak of invisibility for Christmas his first year at Hogwarts. Hagrid had given him an album with moving pictures of his parents, from their wedding to his birth.
And finally, this, from Sirius: a chance to actually see his father playing the sport Harry now loved and played himself. He put the cube on his nightstand and helped himself to a piece of cake from one of his many delivered birthday cakes.
He had birthday cake, he had great presents, and he had visiting the Weasleys to look forward to. Harry's fourteenth birthday might have started out as one of the worst, but it was ending on a very positive note.
End of Chapter One...