That night at dinner, the table was uncharacteristically quiet without Aunt Petunia's constant chatter and gossip. Harry suspected, and hoped, that she was thinking about letting him go to Durmstrang. He didn't see what could possibly hold the Dursleys back from getting rid of him.
Harry crossed his fingers underneath the table when Uncle Vernon told Dudley to go fetch some ice cream.
"But I don't wanna go, Dad! Make Harry get it."
"How about this, Dudleykins? You can pick which dessert we get, okay?" Aunt Petunia soothed.
"Oh, all right." Dudley grumbled and heaved himself out of the chair. The wood creaked.
As soon as Dudley's enormous behind had lumbered down the hall, Uncle Vernon pounced.
"We've talked it over."
"Er, okay?" Harry couldn't tell from Uncle Vernon's tone whether or not it was good news. The vein in his uncle's temple was throbbing, though.
"We haven't come to a definite decision yet." Aunt Petunia said hesitantly.
"What's holding you back? Wouldn't you like me out of your hair?" Harry daydreamed about the previous summer, when he'd gone to the Quidditch World Cup with his best friend Ron. They'd stayed at Ron's house, the Burrow, and had had the best time.
"We certainly wouldn't mind you gone, but who would do the dishes and sweep?" Aunt Petunia loved inflicting house chores on Harry, especially as punishment for scaring Dudley.
"I'm sure you'd get by, Petunia." Uncle Vernon's mustache rippled with his gusty exhale. "I say we let him go. There's nothing good about the boy staying here a minute longer than he needs to."
Harry looked at Aunt Petunia, his heart thudding in his chest.
"Fine. You can go."
Harry fought the urge to leap into the air and whoop. A smile was threatening to burst out onto his face.
It was at this moment that Dudley entered with some pie.
"Thank you," Harry said stiffly to Uncle Vernon, trying not to show his joy on his face lest Uncle Vernon decide Harry didn't deserve the Durmstrang trip. He flew up the stairs, tripping over a living room chair on the way, and grabbed a roll of parchment from his trunk. From the landing of the second floor, he could see Dudley gaping in bewilderment below. As quickly as he could, Harry whipped out a quill and wrote a hasty letter to Dumbledore.
Hedwig, sensing his excitement, perched on his arm and stuck out her leg, ruffling her feathers impatiently.
"Thanks, Hedwig," Harry murmured quietly, tying the letter on with string and giving Hedwig a grateful pat. She hooted, stretched her wings briefly, and swooped out the open window. Harry watched her disappear into the evening sky.
The next week, for Harry at least, was a flurry of packing and excitement. McGonagall had sent him another letter, this time with a ticket to Hogwarts from Platform 9 ¾. Harry didn't have any idea of how they were going to get to Durmstrang from Hogwarts, but he trusted Dumbledore's judgement.
His bedroom door banged open against the door as Harry was folding some school robes. And in the doorway stood Dudley.
"Mum says you've got to come downstairs and-"
Harry tried desperately to cover his trunk but Dudley froze in shock and his piggy little eyes took in the scene too quickly.
"Dad!" He screeched at the top of his lungs. "Dad! Harry's running away!"
Harry cringed. He was going to get it this time.
"What?" Came the thunderous roar. "What have you gone and done, boy?"
Uncle Vernon appeared in the hallway, furious, red-faced, and out of breath.
"Out, Dudley." Uncle Vernon panted.
"But Dad…" Dudley whined, casting a look at the mess of parchment, quills and ink pots on Harry's bed. Harry swallowed nervously. He knew full well that Uncle Vernon hadn't wanted Dudley to know about his trip, hadn't wanted Dudley to know that there were more "crackpot schools" out there.
"What did I tell you, boy? Only pack when Dudders can't see! Now he'll know about everything." Uncle Vernon hissed, pacing around the area of uncluttered floor (which really wasn't much, due to Harry's extensive mess). "Mind you, he's had nightmares before. Being turned into a rat and that sort of rubbish. I won't tolerate this! Not under my roof!" Uncle Vernon added in a mutter to himself.
Harry slowly set his clothes in his trunk and latched the lid cautiously. There wasn't any time to waste, he thought to himself. Although Uncle Vernon didn't seem in the best mood to be approached, he had to do it now or never.
He straightened up and looked Uncle Vernon in the eye.
"I've just about finished packing." There was a quaver in Harry's voice that he didn't like. He pushed more volume and certainty into his next words. "I have to get to Hogwarts-"
"Don't say the name!"
"Right. I have to get to my school by train and I was wondering if you'd take me to the station tomorrow."
Uncle Vernon appeared to be thinking very hard. Harry sensed the cogs and gears in Uncle Vernon's head churning rapidly. "I've got no other choice. Dudley doesn't deserve to live with their type," he growled under his breath, apparently under the impression that Harry couldn't hear him. Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes.
"All right. I'll take you to King's Cross tomorrow. On one condition."
Harry, who'd stopped listening at "All right", stopped and looked at Uncle Vernon with apprehension.
"You tell Dudders that you're being sent away to summer school."
"What?!" Dudley's friends already found ways to make fun of him. If they got wind of him going to "summer school", the bullying would never end.
"You want a ride or not?" Uncle Vernon snarled menacingly. "I'll be dropping you off, nothing more. Wouldn't want to be seen with your kind of crowd." This last part he said to himself, but Harry heard him very clearly.
"You'll tell Dudley you're going to summer school if you know what's good for you, boy. He might get wrong ideas if you don't. I'll be waiting for it over dinner tonight, don't forget." Uncle Vernon walked swiftly out of the room, banging the door behind him.
The bubble of joy that had blossomed from packing to leave the Dursleys had deflated considerably. Sobered by the thought of Dudley's gang and the juicy little tidbit they'd get later, Harry packed quickly (if not rather messily) and picked the lock in the cupboard under the stairs to get to his broomstick and wand. He didn't know whether he'd get the chance to learn some good Quidditch tips from Viktor Krum.
"Harry! Harry, come down here and set the table! Where are you?" Aunt Petunia's nasal voice floated up the stairs. Harry fought the urge to groan, gave his Firebolt an admiring look, and headed downstairs to dinner.
Dudley stared at him as they dug into Aunt Petunia's casserole. Harry decided to break the ice. The anticipation was killing him and Uncle Vernon was giving him a very evil look.
"Look, Dudle-"
"Are you gonna talk about today? 'Cause I've been waiting. Why aren't you in trouble? Dad usually yells at you. How'd you even plan to run away? It's not like you'd make it far."
Uncle Vernon coughed. Harry stared hard at the revolting floral print on the living room couch, a few feet away. Harry strongly suspected that Dudley had just spoken the most words he'd ever spoken together in his life.
"Well, er, I'm going to summer school." Harry said, saying it quickly to get it over with.
"You?" Said Dudley incredulously. "Really? Ha! Wait 'till I tell Piers that dweeby Harry Potter has to go to summer school!"
Dudley spent the rest of the meal laughing himself silly. Harry, who wasn't going to listen to any more taunts of "summer school, summer school" (which Dudley sang in a singsong voice), got up to leave the room and was halfway up the stairs when he heard:
"Oh, doesn't my Ickle Diddykins want to finish his casserole?"
Dudley responded with a chortle, his face red from laughter.
Harry, his spirits now thoroughly dampened, got ready for bed and threw himself between the sheets, fuming at the injustice.