Chapter 9

June 20, 1991

As daylight slowly wanes into darkness, the exhausted lone figure of Petunia Dursley slowly descends from a red double decker bus before it zooms down the road. Tugging against the sleeves of her worn, ill-fitting powder blue coat and matching skirt, she heaves a great sigh and starts the long five block trek home.

Minutes later, she spots the unkempt front lawn of 4 Privet Drive. Working a menial receptionist job with multiple transfers into London leaves little energy for anything else and far fewer funds to even consider hiring a gardener. Another item added to the never ending to-do list. Within the last few meters of the front door, she spots a large bundle of envelopes sticking out of the mail flap though several lie on the ground facing up with red bold letters - Past Due Bill. The illusion of hiding her money troubles crashes and burns. George, the postman, is a notorious gossip and has no doubt eagerly spread the tale amongst all of her neighbors.

Anticipating future embarrassment on the horizon, she scrambles forward and hurriedly searches within her purse for the house key while the other hand absentmindedly turns the door handle. There is no resistance, and the door swings wide open.

"Hmm, I must have forgotten to lock the door this morning."

She crosses over the threshold into a quiet, darkened hallway and immediately freezes in fear upon spotting light from the kitchen. It was definitely turned off prior to leaving for work. The electric bill is already in arrears and she fastidiously turns off all lights as well as anything else when not in use. Any doubt as to whether she accidently left the door unlocked is now out of the question. Someone has definitely broken into her house.

Unsure of what lies on the other side, she cautiously walks forward. Stealth goes out the window as one particularly loud wooden floorboard creaks and inadvertently announces her presence to the intruder.

A trembling hand lightly presses against the hallway door. She cracks it open and glances around the edge which reveals a young boy around her son's age seated at the kitchen table. A shaky sigh of relief escapes as Petunia fully enters the kitchen. Almost immediately his striking auburn highlighted chestnut locks catch her eye as they're laden with gel cut just beneath his ears and swept to the side. The look is quite handsome even if it appears far too refined and mature for his age group.

A stone tablet lies before him and curiously his eyes move from left to right as if he were reading a book. Slightly discomfited by the odd display, she loudly clears her throat to catch his attention. The boy lifts a finger and presses the upper right hand corner of the tablet. Unexpectedly, it shrinks.

The word freak echoes in her mind.

He picks up the now thumb sized piece of stone and slips it into a pocket. Upon tilting his head up, a pair of familiar green almond shaped eyes stare back at her. Equal portions of shock and surprisingly grief overwhelm her senses because she could recognize Lily's unique eyes anywhere even after more than a decade.

'This can't be Harry. He had such awful eyesight and was nearly blind without his prescription glasses. Did he get Lasik surgery? That must have cost a fortune.' Without even realizing it, the mere thought of money has her eyes tracing over his attire. 'Definitely, tailored.' Though never able to afford luxury goods she can instantly spot when something is expensive and high quality. The stark difference in their circumstances is an incredibly difficult pill to swallow.

Hoping to end this unexpected and unwelcome visit, she asks, "What are you doing here? Come to gloat or punish me more?"

Amusement flashes across his face as he says, "Is this how you greet family after a long absence? I'm crushed."

"Bloody Bastard! You cursed us and made our lives miserable."

"You say curse and I say justice. I doubt you could stomach the thought of anyone harming your precious Dudders. Speaking of Dudley, it sounds awfully quiet in here. Where is your darling family?"

For a long moment, the only response is a vicious glare. Then Petunia breaks eye contact to look down at the floor and lowly whispers, "Neither live here anymore."

In a contemplative voice, Harry utters, "Yet, you're still living here. Hmm, I thought you were like three peas in a pod. Guess, I was wrong."

The throwaway comment stings fiercely, but a very small part acknowledges that it holds an ugly truth.

"Thanks to you, I have nowhere else to go. Don't look so smug. You aren't as clever as you think. Having every scrap of food spoil was a chore at first, but eventually it became predictable. I picked up on the pattern almost right away. No food left in the house during sunrise and sunset was safe. And faster than you'd think, I found a loophole. Everyone always underestimates me, but I've always been good at puzzles."

"Well don't leave me in suspense. What was this loophole?"

"The curse has limits; it doesn't extend beyond the house. Pure happenstance that a bag of groceries were accidentally left in the car while parked in the driveway. Miraculously, it was spared from spoiling."

"Huh, I didn't see that coming."

Hearing Harry's genuine expression of surprise, instantly fills her with pride in getting one over on him. It lasts until she remembers what happened next.

"Whatever you did wasn't stable. We followed a strict routine in moving food from the house to the car and back just to avoid the curse's trigger. Out of nowhere, all semblance of order just stopped. Food started sporadically spoiling. Then, there was a long stretch of blissful normal days. It seemed as if we were finally free so Vernon actually invited important clients over…"

A dark expression lingers on Petunia's face as she is once again caught in the vivid memories of when her marriage finally crumbled beneath the metaphorical last straw.

"But the curse started all over again and at the worst possible time. Just after we served cocktails to the clients that familiar obnoxious odor blankets the living room. They were so curious, and nothing we said could dissuade them from getting a glimpse into the dining room. The scene of disgusting, rotted food artfully displayed actually causes one of the clients to projectile vomit on Vernon."

Heaving, uncontrollable laughs escape Harry before he says, "Wow, that's priceless."

A slightly hysterical laugh slips past Petunia's lips. "Laugh it up. I am yearning for the day where our positions are reversed and you're forced to subsist on someone else's so-called good will. Then, we will see who has the last laugh."

Shocked by the vitriol, the infuriating smirk slips from Harry's face. Within the blink of an eye, it's back in place.

Pleased by his brief display of contrition, Petunia continues. "Vernon lost his job the next day. He returned home only to silently pack all of his and Dudley's things in the car. A thousand pleas for him to stop fell on deaf ears and with one foot inside the car he finally deigned to respond."

She remembers every word. "I told you taking him in was a mistake. You never listened. You always warned about Dum - Bumblebo person, but the real danger lived under our roof for years. I can't live like this anymore. You brought him into my life, and I'm done. Goodbye Petunia."

With the last word, Petunia quiets and deflates like a balloon.

Harry tilts his head in consternation. "And, I suppose you think that this is my fault?"

Broken brown eyes well with tears. She ignores the questions and instead asks, "Say what you came here to say, and then leave me in peace."

"After running away, I had no intentions of ever crossing paths with you or your family. Present circumstances have forced my hand in coming here today. Tomorrow, an ancient artifact will prepare invitations for every child of eligible age within the British Isles to attend Hogwarts. Ordinarily this would be cause for celebration, however, I value my privacy and have no intentions of allowing that letter to disclose my true address. Hence, the purpose of today's visit where I impose on you for the night and ultimately trick the artifact into believing this is my place of residence."

Sensing her denial, he quickly continues, "A single night stay, then I'll be out of your hair in the morning and we can continue our prior arrangement of ignoring the other's existence. Hmm, how does that sound?"

Unable to stomach being in his presence a moment longer, Petunia turns around to leave the room. "I still make coffee first thing in the morning; I want you out of my house before I come downstairs."

"Agreed."

September 1, 1991

Year after year on the day Hogwarts opens its doors to new and returning students, all start their journey at King's Cross Train Station. Platform 9 and ¾ transforms from a quiet empty stopover into a noisy bustling hotspot. Ambling carts overpacked with luggage, effusive chitter-chatter of students, and near constant whoosh of floo travel as well as the pop of apparition coalesce into a jubilant atmosphere.

Fifteen minutes before the train departs, one such pop causes quite a stir amongst the staunch supporters of pureblood wizarding supremacy so much so that their conversations temporarily cease. Poised indifferent masks slip, if only for a moment, allowing genuine expressions of utter surprise to appear before being hidden once again. Several observant individuals catch the lapse and covertly scan the platform. Their gaze eventually lands on a bizarre recession near the approved apparition point when the surrounding crowd retreats as if repelled by an invisible force. A tall, imposing woman strides toward the Hogwarts Express. From afar, her identity remains unknown until a rush of whispers race through the crowd.

"My word, is that Walburga Black?"

"It can't be her. I thought for sure that the old crone had died."

"What is she doing here of all places? The Black line is essentially over. The elder son wastes away in Azkaban and the younger son disappeared with no trace more than a decade ago. It is highly unlikely that either son fathered any children and she wouldn't legitimize a bastard."

"Well, who knew that coming today would offer such entertainment."

"At long last, the harpy and the entire Black line has been brought low. Their past glory, power, and influence are mere remnants of the past."

"Hmm, someone is feeling a little bloodthirsty today. Your little assessment left out quite a few assets not to mention their vaults protecting vast heaps of gold, jewels, and books. Anyway, it seems a little premature to discount her."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Surely it hasn't passed your notice that the young fellow trailing after her bears a remarkable resemblance to the late James Potter?"

"HARRY POTTER?!"

With one loud, unfiltered utterance all attention, even the students, hone in on young Potter. A few seconds pass before the more uncouth populace surges toward him. Surprisingly, a vibrant golden barrier materializes creating a one and a half meter radius that abruptly stops the incoming onslaught. While a few maintain their balance, most tumble onto the ground. The barrier slowly shrinks in on itself thus enlightening all to its origin from a bracelet encircling Potter's left wrist.

Before anyone can speculate on the wondrous, confusing mystery a mirthful chuckle escapes Walburga as she lays a firm hand onto Potter's shoulder and says aloud, "Let this be a lesson to maintain propriety when interacting with my ward. Come along Harry."

In a confident and graceful manner, both figures glide toward the closest set of doors. Instead of merely exchanging the cursory goodbye seen within so many conservative pureblood families, they actually embrace for a long while.

As various onlookers witness this scene, a vast majority feel a deep sense of unease. An impressionable youth with nearly unheard amounts of political clout connected to a woman of questionable sanity who zealously follows the dark traditional wizarding dogma. No, nothing good will come of this association.

At 11:00am sharp, a loud whistle wails above the din of conversation. A few late arrivals appear just in time to board as each set of doors simultaneously close.

As expected, the platform's flurry of activity migrates onto the train. Despite differences in age or wizarding origins, the students generally follow three distinct patterns of behavior in either being overly gregarious, extremely shy, or indifferent.

Harry Potter falls within the latter category. Though happy and intrigued to finally experience Hogwarts firsthand, his mind is preoccupied as today also coincides with another important milestone - The Consortium's first commercial product release.

Several years ago, the six founders of The Consortium unanimously agreed against disclosing Harry's true association until he can effectively control the wizarding world's savior narrative. In effect, he became the silent partner and more surprisingly their foremost expert in runes. One of his side projects aimed at expanding their shop's security measures and a random conversation with Doris relaying one wish off her bucket list evolved into the Flying Eye.

As the name implies, it mirrors the function of an eye in perceiving visual images which are instantly displayed on a naturally occurring crystal. Simple explanation, but the actual development involved a staggering number of failures across a two month period starting in late June. Throughout the entire process, his main objective was bringing a synergistic effect between three critical elements: runes, materials, and a power source. In finally accomplishing his end-goal, now he can focus on updating his journal with observations.

Powering a rune is destructive. High possibility that magic isn't the only fuel source, but also the energy created by bonds breaking in the rune etched material. Repeated use causes the material to deform and eventually leave nothing, but ash. The spoil punishment for the Dursley household destabilized due to using plant based materials. Though not man-made, the flower petal's standard life cycle includes decomposition. Does not occur all at once or evenly. Undetermined amount of time until rune stops functioning properly. Not problematic for limited use runic arrays. More permanent solutions require careful material selection. Soil extends the life of a rune. Unknown properties within soil - look into it further.

The compartment door sliding open breaks his concentration so Harry passes a cursory glance over the stranger and sees a young boy with red flaming hair. Quickly losing interest, he turns away and continues writing in his journal.

A voice breaks the silence, "Mind if I sit with you? Everywhere else is full."

Without looking up, Harry responds, "No, feel free to sit down."

As soon as the boy settles, the blissful silence ends as his new companion starts rambling in obvious hopes of starting conversation. Indecipherable words float past utterly shattering his prior thought process. Always in motion and always moving forward, he had truly looked forward to catching up with his journal entries. Feeling mildly irritated, green eyes look up into blue eyes.

"So...now that you know about me. What's your name?"

"Huh, sorry my mind was preoccupied. I didn't catch any of what you said earlier, but my name is Harry Potter."

Blue eyes briefly shutter in irritation from being ignored, but instantly bloom into shock and excitement. "Blimey, Harry Potter! I'm talking to Harry Potter! Fred and George are never going to believe this. I'm Ron Weasley by the way. Do you have the scar? Do you remember fighting You-Know-Who? Are there any magic spells that you can show me?"

All at once the rapid fire questions end, and the now identified Ron stares waiting for an answer.

Only one thought that passes through Harry's mind. 'Ron is a fanboy.' After taking a calming breath and slowly counting to ten, he directs his attention back to the boy who is now slightly shifting with a nervous, jittery energy.

"Yes, I have a curse scar. No, I don't remember the encounter with You-Know-Who. No, I won't teach you any new spells. Let's start over, shall we?"

Without waiting for a response, he continues, "Fame is fickle. One day you're surrounded by admiring fans, and the next those same individuals most fervent wish is your persecution. So you see, fame has never and will never be my ambition. It is highly improbable that a toddler under the age of two had the power, control, or inclination to vanquish You-Know-Who. Taking credit for something I don't remember definitely rubs me the wrong way. One day I will be remembered for doing something extraordinary, but until then forget everything you read or heard about me. I am just Harry."

Ron stares for a long moment with his mouth slowly opening and closing a few times.

The door slides ajar once again, but this time a woman enters offering sweets for sale. Knowing a save when he sees one, Harry says, "Yes, I'll take two of everything."

The peace offering works wonders in relieving the prior tension and awkwardness. Though befriending Ron is decidedly off the table, Harry keeps the conversation light in an effort of cultivating a distant acquaintance. Eventually the topic naturally steers toward magic when Ron offers to cast a spell and change his pet rat, Scabbers, yellow.

In mid-cast, a girl with wild voluminous brown hair arrives at their compartment. "Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one."

With a look of confusion, Ron replies, "No."

Before another word can be spoken, the girl notices the wand held in the boy's hand and inquires, "Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see then."

Ron slightly preens and says a rhythmic prose aloud, "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow." Expressions of wonder and anticipation appear on both Ron and the girl's face as a jet of pale golden light launches from wand to rat. Upon impact, the rat remains an ordinary brown. Nothing else happens except for the whiskers momentarily sparking in the same pale golden light. Abashed blue eyes immediately focus on Harry waiting for a reaction.

A moment to contemplate whether Ron is looking for acknowledgement and acceptance from the world, the Boy-Who-Lived, or just Harry allows the girl to voice her thoughts.

"Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good is it."

Staring into blue eyes allows a clear window into the pain felt from the unintentionally rude and abrasive comments. Harry finally jerks into action and attempts to salvage this interaction before it can deteriorate any further.

A miniscule wrist twitch causes an 11 ½" holly wand with a phoenix feather core to spring forth into his waiting palm. Another controlled flick occurs while simultaneously uttering, "Accio Trevor the Toad."

Seconds pass with no noticeable result.

"That wasn't a very good spell either. I've had much better luck…"

Words seem to fail her as a toad flies into the compartment landing in Harry's lap. "You were saying? Anyway, better not let us detain you any further. I'm sure Neville will be quite pleased to reunite with Trevor."

Instead of leaving, the girl walks closer to Harry. "But, what was that spell? Where did you learn it? I've read all of our first year books and a few others. I didn't find anything that sounds like a-kee-oh."

"The spell is called Accio. I'm sure once school starts there will be plenty of time to confer with the charms professor on learning more. By the way, I don't think we've been properly introduced. My companion is Ron Weasley, and I am Harry Potter. What's your name?"

Irritation in having her other questions ignored is easily displayed by pursed lips and an audible low huff. In a marginally less pleasant voice, she replies, "My name is Hermione Granger. I'll return Neville's toad. You two better change into your robes, I expect we'll be arriving soon."

A flutter of blacks robes trail her abrupt exit and unbeknownst to Hermione this interaction adds her to Harry's list of distant acquaintances. He turns toward his companion and sees big blue eyes gazing at him with gratitude and admiration. 'Hmm, Ron is definitely a fanboy.'

Without wasting another second, he stands up and says, "Well, I'll take Hermione's advice and find a bathroom to change into the school robes. Please stay here and feel free to use the compartment."

Harry stalks out of the compartment thinking 'I hope dealing with the other kids isn't a chore.'