A Different Kind of Training, Chapter 7

Harry could not stop thinking of the spell that Luna had given him. He knew that it was probably a horrendously bad idea, but the idea of going back in time, to a time in which he would not be famous because of a scar on his head, a time in which he could do whatever he wanted, within reason. He thought about it the last few days left before the break (escaping the non-stop partying and mayhem to work on his homework in in the Room of Requirement, talking to Luna under the stars, hiding out from rabid fans in the Hufflepuff common room, because they were actually polite enough to give him some space), thought about it all during the train ride home, thought about it at King's Cross and on the sullen and silent car-ride home. His parents! Voldemort gone! Time travel! A vacation! A pawn can become a queen! All of it rattled around and around and around in his skull until-

"Boy!"

Harry jerked his head up, realizing vaguely that Uncle Vernon's company car had stopped in the driveway of No. 4 Privet drive. They'd arrived. "Yes Uncle Vernon?" he asked distractedly, having gotten out of the car. He was instantly shaken out of his daze by a palm harshly contacting with the side of his face.

"You look me in the eye when I'm talking to you." There was something sinister in the man's face, or at least as sinister as the rather overweight and unhealthy man could manage. "There'll be no funny business this summer, you hear?"

"Yes Uncle Vernon." Harry went to the side door and got Hedwig out, then went to get his trunk out. As he laid a hand on it, piggy eyes narrowed behind him, and Uncle Vernon's voice snapped: "Don't bother getting your trunk out of the car. Tomorrow it's going to the Heart Foundation."

Harry's eyes widened, letting the trunk, which he had lifted part of the way, fall back on the seat in his shock. Damn, this was not good. While he'd always made sure that he had some essentials with him, (his cloak, map, and wand, as well as notes, an all purpose healing potion, a little food, and a picture of his parents, along with a fake wand he could give Uncle Vernon to take away) he usually needed more than just the single phial of all-purpose healing draught after he had been ruffed up or bitten by Aunt Marge's dogs or whatnot, and he did need the food; it was a toss-up as to whether his dearest relations would actually feed him this summer. Plus, although he was no longer as hungry for things of his parents as he had once been, it would hurt like hell to give up his photo album. Plus, he didn't particularly want to lose his clothes and books, even if he could probably just ask Mrs. Weasley to let him go get some more.

He knew better than to argue, though, although a "What?" was forced almost involuntarily from his lips. Uncle Vernon practically snarled at that. Seriously, though, what could have made Uncle Vernon so angry with him- or more angry than usual? Harry shivered. Something told him that this summer would be interesting, to say the very least.

"Don't you talk back to me, boy. You aren't so confident now, are you. Bet the freaks threw you away..."

What was his problem?! Well, aside from the fact that Harry existed, Harry thought miserably. He had always been harsh, but Harry could not help thinking wishing that the man could have given it a rest, just for the first few days after Harry had gotten back. He could tolerate chores and being ignored, but being practically pounced on from the moment he exited the car was a little much, especially after the adulation he and his friends had received for being the ones to see/facilitate Voldemort's downthrow. Although he really ought to have gotten used to that years before.

Uncle Vernon's face took on a distinctly ugly expression, which made him look even nastier than he already did, and Harry realized that he had once again been spacing out. "Get in the house," he snarled, without even giving Harry even a moment to try to explain himself, although Harry doubted that he would have listened even if Harry had been allowed to do such a thing. Harry was growing distinctly nervous now, but he followed the man into the house, not really seeing another option that would not end with him being expelled. In hindsight, that was actually a rather foolish idea. Uncle Vernon was very much conscious of what the neighbors thought, meaning that he would never do anything that would jeopardize anyone's opinion of him when someone could see him, (aside from making Harry do the occasional yard work and slapping him once in a while, like now, which could be written off as 'discipline') but that did not mean that he was always mindful of the neighbors' opinions, namely, when he was inside and they couldn't hear him scream. As soon as Harry got inside, Uncle Vernon grabbed him by the collar and dragged him up the stairs to his room, while in the background, the telly still blared and Aunt Petunia did her "good housewife" impersonation in the kitchen by making some sort of pastry from a boxed mix.

Once at the door to the room, Uncle Vernon unlocked all the various locks on the door and threw him inside, snapping, "Don't pull anything, or you'll catch it!" Then the door flew shut with a bang, and Harry could hear various complex locks clicking. As soon as the door was locked, Harry hastily drew out his cloak, the map, the healing potion, his wand, the little bit of food he had kept out, and his notes and pictures, and stowed them under the loose floorboard under his bed as fast as he was able, then let Hedwig out to fly to Ron's, just in case. Uncle Vernon would no doubt destroy any 'freakish' things that he might find in Harry's room, up to and including the owl if he was in a bad mood, especially as he had threatened such in times past. And then Harry sat down to think, and to wait until his 'family' relented and let him out to cook dinner, knowing that if that was the case he could probably nick some of it without them knowing. Better not to break the stasis charms on the wrappers of food unless he could get none of his own, because magically preserved food decayed even faster than ordinary with the charms off.

Why was he specifically in trouble this year, though? Harry knew better than to ask Uncle Vernon (or Aunt Petunia, for that matter) what was going on, but he was nevertheless curious and perturbed. What could have caused Uncle Vernon to be even more of an arse this year?

The answer, when it came, felt almost unreal. Harry had been studying a crumpled page of notes which had been hidden in his jacket (even wizards needed to do their homework, and there was only so much that Harry could do on the last week of school and on the train to Hogwarts, especially if he didn't have his books.) when someone knocked at his door. Harry's head jerked up, and he hid the notes under his pillow reflexively, then called out "Who's there?" although he was not really expecting an answer. But really, who could it be? No one in the Dursley household knocked except Harry himself (that had been beaten into him- not literally, as Uncle Vernon didn't have the stamina for a beating, but still using harsh methods- when he was very young, as "the freak", not being part of the family, had to mind his manners at all times).

"Um, can I talk to you?"

Harry froze. Was that Dudley? Since when did Dudley knock? Or ask him for anything? Was he imperiused?

"Yeah, if you can get in," he found himself saying, actually rather curious, if still worried. Why would Dudley want to talk to him?

The sound of several latches and locks coming undone startled him even more; it seemed like Dudley was actually serious! Harry tensed against his will. He supposed he could always fight with his bare hands, if it came to that, but he didn't particularly want his Aunt Petunia furious that he hurt her Duddykins, and he couldn't cast magic or he would be expelled, hero of the magical world or not. Fudge had quite effectively demonstrated that last year. What if this was a trick? What if it wasn't just Dudley on the other side of the door, if it was his gang come to beat up the freak. What if-

The door opened, and Harry clenched his fists on the thin blanket to prevent his hands from shaking visibly. "Hi Dud," he managed, not sure what to say. What was there to say, really?

"Um, hi," was the other boy's response, and he shifted back and forth on his feet. Harry took the moment of silence to inspect his cousin, and was actually rather impressed, as he had shed all the rolls of fat entirely, looking rather muscular and even more dangerous, especially since his blond hair was, for probably the first time, actually loose instead of slicked back like a 'pig in a wig'. A muscle jumped nervously in Harry's neck.

The silence was starting to grow truly oppressive when Dudley finally said, "um, so how was your school," and Harry was actually shocked into replying. "Fine, except one of the teachers was a nasty bitch."

Dudley blinked. "Yeah, I get that. Had one of those too, but only for the first trimester."

Harry wondered if he could get away with casting a 'revelo' on the boy. Something was not right. Why would Dudley be acting like this? Was he really actually trying to make conversation, or was he setting Harry up for something? There was another awkward pause, and at last Dudley burst out: "I'm sorry!"

Well. Of all the things that Harry would have expected his cousin to say, this was not one of them. Harry could simply blink at him in pure bewilderment. That was honestly the understatement of the century, but Harry was more surprised by the fact that Dudley even said it than the fact that it was not severe enough. "Um, sorry for what?"

Dudley looked distinctly uneasy, but he finally said, "sorry for...um...I was a really big prat."

"You're welcome?" Harry blinked at him. "Dudley, are you ok?"

Dudley actually blushed. Granted, it was really only a pale pink tinge that momentarily took up residence in the general vicinity of his cheekbones, but it certainly surprised Harry enough. "Oh, shut it, I'm trying to apologize here and you're just gaping at me like a fish..."

"Right," Harry managed. "I just...it's a bit unexpected, you know? Kind of worrying, actually. I mean, apology accepted, but- but why?"

Dudley frowned. "Those demon/dementy things," he managed. "I just...I felt so horrible, about everything, and you saved me, and..." Harry sensed that Dudley might actually have worked up into some sort of cathartic rant if he had stayed, but at that moment, Aunt Petunia's shrill voice rang out, calling for Dudley to come up to supper, and a still slightly shaken Dudley Dursley said "um, gotta go," and closed and locked the door, heading down the stairs. Harry was left to stare at the now-once-again locked door, wondering what kind of weird parallel universe he had managed to find himself in, completely forgetting the pitiful excuse for homework that he had been working on.

Then, that night, just as Harry was thinking about changing from his ratty clothes to some even more ratty clothes, the miserable excuses for garments that masqueraded as his night clothes, the door once again opened, this time very quietly and without a knock. "Um, Potter? You awake?"

Harry was flung instantly into full wakefulness. "Yeah?" he responded, hastily sitting up from where he had been lying on his stomach on his bed, reading a very, very worn copy of The Secret Garden (Dudley had gotten it for Christmas one year but hadn't liked it because it had been 'too girly'). "What is it?"

Dudley just stood there for a moment, shifting on his feet, and then said finally, "um, I got you this," and pressed a sandwich wrapped in a napkin in the other boy's hand. "Mum and Dad aren't really that happy with you right now, but...look, it's not poisoned or anything."

Harry just took a moment to stare at the sandwich and then at the other boy, trying to gauge his intentions. He certainly looked honest, and Harry seriously doubted that he was that good of an actor. But still, what was his motive? "Why?" he asked after a long moment, taking a cautious bite of it. It didn't taste like Dudley had poisoned it or spat on it...

"I...well...I did some thinking." In previous years, Harry might have asked, "Did it hurt?" but it seemed like everything had changed this year, and he didn't know what to think or do or say at all. And Dudley seemed as if he was actually trying. "After those...things...attacked me, Mum wanted me to talk to a therapist; you know how she is. He helped me work a lot of things out. Potter...I just...a lot of the things I did and said to you were wrong, you know? And Mum and Dad were downright horrible, really, to both of us." He shuddered. "I used to just have everything handed to me, but this summer I almost flunked out of Smeltings. Like, actually flunked." He frowned, then, seeming to realize that the light was off, he turned it on, although he still kept his voice hushed, as if to keep has parents from coming up here. "I just...it's been a long year. Started dieting, too; my doctor said that I needed to take off weight. It's just...Mum and Dad aren't helping. Mum says I can't possibly diet, because I'll starve, and Dad wants me to go into business or the military. I just want to box, you know."

Harry was quite frankly speechless.

"And...and what they did to you was worse," Dudley continued after a moment.

Harry actually spat out a mouthful of crumbs and lettuce fragments. "What?!"

"They abused you! Like, who keeps their nephew in a cupboard when they have two extra rooms. Or hits them. Or starves them. I didn't really get it back then, I don't know why I didn't. I guess...I guess I just had everything I needed and was too busy smashing aliens on Scorcher Starships or something. I don't know what I thought. I just...I'm sorry, Potter."

"Harry," Harry managed, having finally found his speech. Even after what Dudley had done to him, he was at least trying to make amends. Even if Harry didn't trust him yet, he had too few family members not to try to connect to the ones that were at least not actively trying to be nasty to him.

"What?"

"Call me Harry. Can we just...is this a truce?"

Dudley blinked a few times, then finally said "Yeah. Let's have a truce."

Harry finished the sandwich, shoving the crust in his mouth with only the merest modicum of etiquette, then wiped his hands on his ratty greying sweatpants and held it out for Dudley to shake. And so it was that, for probably the first time since they had both been babies rolling around on the impeccable carpet of No. 4 Privet Drive, Harry Potter and Dudley Dursley agreed not to kill each other.

At that moment, there was a tap-tap-tap sound from the window, and both boys' heads went up.

"Wh-what's that?"

Harry rose and went to the window to look out, but it was only Hedwig, and so he cautiously opened the window, letting in the stifling summer air, and let the owl perch on his arm to land. Dudley stared. "That's, um, your owl?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, giving her a fragment left over from the BLT that Dudley had gotten for him. She nibbled his finger affectionately, yellow eyes soft.

"What kind is she?"

It took Harry a moment to reply, because of he had never in his life expected Dudley to ask him about Hedwig, but he finally came out with: "She's a snowy owl."

"She's pretty," Dudley offered after a moment. "Does she...would she be ok with me touching her? I've never touched an owl."

Harry hesitated. Being a wizarding familiar, Hedwig had a number of protection spells layered over her, but he still couldn't be sure if Dudley would spook her, even if it would be nearly impossible to hurt her except perhaps with the Hogwarts Express or a killing curse. "Yeah, ok, but be gentle."

Dudley approached slowly, and though Hedwig eyed him warily, she seemed to sense that he was no longer a real threat, and so let him touch her soft white head, mussing up the feathers. When her beak parted in annoyance, Harry waved the other boy away.

"Wow, she's soft. I never thought a bird could be soft. I mean, they look all feathery and spiny, you know?" Harry did know; he had thought much the same thing the first time that he had gone to pick Hedwig up. "Do a lot of w-wizards have them?"

Harry started, causing Hedwig to flap to keep her balance on his hoodie sleeve. Had Dudley seriously used the word 'wizard' in a sentence? "Yeah," he found himself replying. "They're the way we get mail actually, most of the time, and of course they're pets too. And they're a lot smarter and longer-lived than ordinary birds."

Hedwig clacked her beak smugly, then reached up to start preening Harry's messy mane, looking for all the world as though she had understood every word that they had said, which, come to think of it, she probably had. Dudley was still staring at the great white bird.

"So like, what other pets do you guys have?"

What was Dudley on about? Was he just curious, or did he have some sort of ulterior motive? But if he did have an ulterior motive, what could it possibly be? "Well, at school we are only supposed to have an owl, a toad, or a cat, but some people bring things like rats and tarantulas and others get exotic things like birds of paradise or panthers or magical animals. Our headmaster has a phoenix, actually."

"Like, a legit phoenix? Does it actually burn up and come back?" Dudley asked, his ordinary fear of magic and magical creatures seeming just slightly outweighed by his curiosity, although he still looked a little scared and awkward about talking about such blatantly freakish creatures. Although, to be fair, he had played some fantasy video games (secretly, of course, since Aunt Petunia would likely sooner have died then let Dudley have anything to do with magic; Harry only knew because he had had to fetch drinks and snacks for Dudley and his gang when they had camped out in the computer room and had secretly played Final Fantasy).

"Yeah, Fawkes is immortal and rises from his ashes. He can also teleport and heal people with his tears."

"Whoa. Like, anything?"

"Well, he can't help with certain curses, but if you like fall off your broom and bang your head, he can heal you," Harry said, surprised at how easy it was to talk to him.

"Wait, you guys actually ride brooms?"

"Yes. There's actually a sport we play, although most wizards just apparate- that's like teleportation- or travel through portals in chimneys when we want to get places."

Dudley stared. "A sport? How do you do it? Does it like hurt if you stay on your broom for too long?"

"You have three different kinds of balls, called the quaffle, bludgers, and snitch. There are floating hoops, and one person on each team has to guard the goals while the other ones either try to get the waffle into the hoop or smack the bludgers at people to knock them off their brooms. Then there's the snitch, which is this little golden ball that one person on each team has to try to catch to win the game. It's complicated and also dangerous."

"I'll say, that sounds weird. I'll stick to football, thank you. It sounds cool though. If I'd understood any of it."

"I have a book on it I could-" Harry broke off. "Damn. Actually, your dad has all my stuff. I would let you borrow it if I had it..."

Dudley gave him a sheepish grin, which looked decidedly odd on his face. "Actually, I...um...nicked your stuff. I stuck your dresses and witch hat on top of a bunch of my broken things, so dad thinks it's all there...I'll get it to you tomorrow.

Harry's mouth gaped again. "What? Why?"

"To say sorry, Potter. You are familiar with the concept?"

Harry was, he'd just never expected it from thus quarter in his life. "Um, yeah, th-thank you." Dudley just looked awkward.

Dudley had to leave shortly after, explaining that his parents, of course, did not approve of his new sentiments and that he would probably get both of them in trouble if he stayed, but from that evening on, they had a quiet truce, and though Dudley still met up with his gang in the park, they tended more towards skateboarding and boxing practice than vandalizm and 'Harry hunting' now, and Harry was sometimes even welcomed along, once Dudley had beat into his friends' thick skulls that they were going to have to clean up their acts. The elder Dursleys were still horrible. The Order members watched the house night and day, ostensibly for Harry's 'safety'. The neighbors were still nosy and suspicious. But other things had changed for the better, too, and Harry found himself quite grateful.

Until one day that it all went down pretty much in flames. Or in fireworks.