Readers: I realise that I have taken a few liberties, injecting what I feel is some much needed history and background into the pre-Hogwarts section and made Harry much more realistically inquisitive. After all, the idea that he'd have a month back at the Dursley's an learn NOTHING about the wizarding world is absolutely absurd. I understand JKR's reasons for these choices, but that doesn't mean I like them. He'll be on his way soon enough.
All of the characters except for my own handful of originals, as well as locations, names, titles etc are and remain the property of JKR and I hope you like it.
Principles such as Splicing are mine as well as all unique books, histories, titles, traditions and spells. I give users permission to use them, but only if you reference me in your work.
Review please whether you like it or not. Tell me what you do and do not like and why! I do love having my ego stroked with 'Wow, great!' etc, but it's not as useful for my process as having some real examples and effects.
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Chapter 11: From the Heart.
Nidhogg nodded at Harry and raised himself up so their eyes were level.
'Good morning.' Harry said, unexpectedly relieved to see the tiny snake.
'… Morning…' Nidhogg hissed in a tiny voice.
'You can talk now?' Harry cried excitedly.
Nidhogg shook his head, 'Trying. Small.'
'You mean you're too young to speak properly?'
Nidhogg nodded.
'Right, I guess practice makes perfect?'
Another nod.
'Is your mother or Salatin coming?'
'No.'
Harry was disappointed because he missed the elder snakes, but their well-wishing had been pretty comprehensive the last time he had seen them and snakes were rarely inclined to say anything that wasn't necessary.
Nidhogg's midsection was visibly swollen and he was a little slower than normal
'Been feasting since we got back?' Harry asked.
The little snake nodded then curled up on Harry's lap, eyes half-closed.
Harry stroked the tiny head with the tip of his thumb and resumed his reading.
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Harry read until the sun was at the very top of the sky, when, too hot to continue, he pulled off most of his clothes and jumped into the large pond to cool off.
The pond had always been a safe place for him due to the fact that Dudley couldn't swim.
He emerged a few minutes later, dried himself while remarking on how he had already gained a noticeable amount of weight and his ribs weren't as painfully obvious then dressed in his shorts and lay, basking in the shade of another tree to avoid burning.
The book had moved onto a long and very dry section on international wizarding relations. Harry put the book aside when he realised that it seemed quite biased in that member states of the International Confederates of Wizards were considered universally friendly whist non-members were enemies.
The best thing that life with the Dursley's had taught him was not to generalise. He put The Ninth Age aside and started on a book that was actually a primer for magical imigrants and muggleborns about magical Britain and its wizarding society.
It was a fascinating read and quite troubling in many respects. Where muggle Britain had changed hugely in the last two centuries, the social and political landscape for magicians had scarcely changed at all.
For example, the majority of wizarding power was divided up into three zones of influence. The first and largest was a series of great houses.
The book listed the thirteen current great houses: Malfoy, Diggory, Nott, Longbottom, Lane, Stangroom, McClaggan, Zabini, Gajewska, Tudor, Lovegood, Greengrass and Parkinson. The war against Voldemort had caused a huge shake-up in the houses, leaving several great houses 'inactive' which meant that the family currently had no of-age head and was not receiving rents from properties that they owned. After fifty years of inactivity, any house great or otherwise was dissolved and its assets put up for auction. It was by this method that new families could grow and become houses themselves.
The book gave an exhaustive list of inactive houses, three of which still held great house status which could be reactivated as soon as they had a legal head. Harry looked down the list and saw, fourth from top, Potter. It's nearness to the top meant that it was still safe from dissolution for many years, being inactive as it had been since his parent's deaths, which meant he only had to wait the six years until he turned seventeen and could become the legal head of Great House Potter.
The idea made him shudder with delight. How different his life was compared to less than a month ago.
He carried on reading. The great houses owned large parts of the British Isles, including Ireland, Brittany and parts of the old British Empire (which magically speaking were still part of Britain and officially ruled by the queen) and they had rights of ownership to whatever happened on those lands. Magicians very rarely owned their own property, except on land owned by the Ministry or in muggle areas (many of which were still actually owned by wizarding families but managed by third parties such as local councils) and instead paid rents directly to the landowning family who were legally responsible for the upkeep and safety of their lands.
The second major power was the Ministry which, while the smaller of the two, had its powerbase centralised in London, had a single head - currently the Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge - and was considered overall more powerful than the naturally squabbling, disjointed and disorganised Great Houses. The Ministry was responsible for ensuring that the magical world kept moving. It kept the peace via the Department for Magical Law Enforcement which included the Auror Office, licensed and controlled dangerous beasts and magical creatures, was responsible for keeping mugglekind in the dark and many other functions.
The Minister himself sat beneath only three individuals in all of Britain: The muggle prime minister, the queen herself and the head of the Wizenagemot, Albus Dumbledore.
The Wizenagemot was the third zone of power and was a council of the most powerful, influential and wise witches and wizards from across Britain. It was responsible for the creation of new laws that the Ministry was responsible for implementing, holding criminal and civil trials and hearing appeals against decisions taken by the Ministry. It was also the body responsible for the dissolution of dead or long-term inactive houses and the sale or redistribution of their holdings.
Wizarding Britain was also in no way democratic. The Wizenagemot elected its own members, head and was responsible for choosing the minster for magic who would have to defend his office at the annual vote every year. Seats on the wizenagemot were highly prized and for life unless a member was dismissed in a vote of no confidence. Many members of the great houses had representatives on the council who spoke for them.
The whole thing was incredibly convoluted and made very little sense to Harry who suspected that most magicians understood very little about the society they were going to live in.
According to the book, the three zones of power all allowed a house-less witch or wizard great opportunities to advance in the wizarding world. Harry somehow doubted it would be a simple thing, however and after an hour of struggling with the complicated and thorny subject of wizarding life, he gave up and started reading up on magic, pulling out a couple of books on the subject of basic alchemy and potion making.
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He maintained his own schedule for the remaining two weeks before the start of school, spending his time either in the Dursley's garden or in the park with the pool. He absorbed books, devouring knowledge and filled the gaping expanses of his enforced ignorance.
He practiced wand movements and invocations using a stick in place of his wand, learned the names and attributes of dozens of potion ingredients and memorised the locations of lots of star constellations for astronomy classes.
His health and weight had both improved since he stopped serving the Dursleys and as Dudley was no longer terrorising him and running his name down, he spent a few afternoon playing cricket and rounders with some other locals. He found it strange that they were so sullen and moody every time someone mentioned going back to school as he couldn't wait. It took all of his self-control not to blurt out the truth about himself and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He made the decision to speak to Uncle Vernon when he came home from work on Friday the thirtieth of August. He waited until Vernon had finished his dinner and desert, read his post and before he had chance to settle in front of the television, spoke up.
'Uncle Vernon?'
Vernon jumped so hard that almost all of his impressive bulk left the armchair in a single movement. He flushed scarlet immediately and glared at Harry. 'Yes, what is it?'
'Sorry to bother you, but tomorrow's the day I need that lift to King's Cross station so I can get the train to school.'
Vernon twitched as he heard the word "school". 'So, what do you want me to do about it?'
Harry bit his tongue, desperate to try out a hamster transfiguration charm. 'You agreed that you'd give me a lift there. I have quite a lot of things to take.'
Vernon paled. 'Time?'
'I need to take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o'clock.' Harry said.
His aunt and uncle stared.
'Platform what?'
'Nine and three-quarters.'
'Don't talk rubbish,' said Uncle Vernon. 'There is no platform nine and three-quarters.'
'It's on my ticket.'
'Barking,' said Uncle Vernon, 'howling mad, the lot of them. You'll see. You just wait. All right, we'll take you to King's Cross. We're going to London anyway.'
'Why?'
Vernon's face contorted and Harry saw he was about to shout about not asking questions but caught himself. 'Dudley's got an appointment at a… private hospital to have that ruddy tail removed. Operation's first thing Monday morning.'
Harry supressed a snigger, thanked his uncle and went to his room to practice the movements for a spell to check to see if milk has gone sour and pack his trunk.
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Saturday passed in an agonising crawl.
Harry was restless, hardly slept and spent the morning unpacking and repacking his trunk, speaking with Nidhogg and when it was impossible that there was no better way to fit his things away, he went swimming in the pool.
When he returned to the Privet Drive and found that it was still only early afternoon, he thought about taking a bus to a town nearby which, according to Wizarding Communities in the Commuter Belt, had a much higher wizard to muggle ratio than normal but thought that the time would be better spent practicing and went to the garden while the Dursleys locked themselves in the house.
The following night, Harry snatched only a handful of hours sleep which were punctuated with dreams of goblin rebellions, great battles and the stories of Taliesin the bard and his adventures in Rome.
He woke before dawn, checked everything over again, secured Nidhogg in the trunk at his own request and went down stairs.
He went outside to see if any of the snakes had showed then enjoyed the early hours with a piece of toast –dry because he felt sick with anticipation.
Deciding on a peace offering, he started cooking. Sausages, eggs, bacon, tomato, fried bread, black pudding and baked beans were all cooked when he heard Petunia move upstairs. It had to be her – Vernon made the house shake when he rose. She was always the first up at weekends. He set the sausages on the table next to the rest of the food and felt a flare of anger at his aunt. A cold shudder ran through him and he rolled his shoulders and neck, feeling the bones pop. Petunia walked into the dining room as he set down a pot of fresh brewed coffee.
'Y-you…' She stammered. She looked like she had been hit by a wall of liquid nitrogen that had frozen her to the spot.
'Aunt,' Harry said, putting the pot down, 'I know you don't like me, that you hate the fact that I've taken up space in your life, your money and that you were lumbered with me when Voldemort killed my parents.'
Petunia made to speak, opening and closing her mouth like a fish trying to breathe air.
Something about her pinched, horsey face and offensive, superior attitude that made him snap at her. 'No, let me speak.' He said, feeling a cold surge in his chest. Petunia closed her mouth. 'You treated me like an animal, worse. You degraded me, dehumanised me, abused me and tried to destroy my nature. You hate me despite the fact that without me you would have been killed or enslaved years ago.' The cold swelled in him and he stepped toward her. 'You owe me your life and your freedom. You are my mother's only sister, my flesh and blood and you will never treat me as something beneath you again. Today I leave you, your monster of a husband and your cretin of a son to take my place in the world you tried to steal from me. I hope I never see you again, but you owe me, Petunia Dursley. You owe me.'
Tears had appeared, rimming her eyes red and her tight, practiced posture had faltered into round-shouldered misery. 'M-m-my-' she started, but Harry cut her off.
'No. You've said enough. I could have ignored you like you ignored the bruises that Dudley laid across my skin and bones since the day I could walk, but I have chosen to make a last kind gesture to you. Sit and eat then when you leave me at King's Cross later never have anything to do with me again. Am I understood?'
She nodded as the tears spilled free, creating dark spots on her gold silk blouse and she walked around the table. 'Pull yourself together.' He said, walking back into the kitchen. When he returned, putting down a plate of buttered toast, he saw that she had indeed, pulled herself together. She was sitting straight again, her eyes barely betraying a hint of tears and her chin back up but she wouldn't meet his eyes.
He sat across the table and took a deep breath.
'What have I done?' She said.
'What?' He said, turning to her.
She looked at him. 'I didn't say anything.' She said, averting her eyes quickly.
'Whatever.'
'Just because I agreed to that doddering old fool…' she said miserably.
He was watching her through the corner of his eye and her mouth had not moved.
Why does he have to be so much better than my son; so much better, more honest, more caring. Too good, just like her.
Her mouth was not moving. He was hearing her thoughts. There was no other explanation.
Vernon arrived in the room full of bluster. Disgusted, Harry stood. 'I've made breakfast for you.'
Vernon muttered something under his breath and turned to his wife. 'Petunia?'
She shook her head in a tight twitch that looked it should have snapped her neck. 'Just sit Vernon, Harry's leaving today and he's made us all breakfast.'
Stunned, Vernon sat in his normal seat and muttered at Harry something that could have been either thanks or a notification that he had egg on his face. Harry ignored him and served himself.
Dudley entered the room a few minutes later. He had bags under his eyes and had developed a nervous twitch since Hagrid had given him the tail. He whimpered when he saw Harry sat at the table and looked at his parents with wide, scared eyes.
'Come and sit down, darling.' Petunia said. 'Harry has made us all breakfast.'
Dudley stammered and stuttered for almost a minute before Vernon slapped the table with one massive hand. 'For god's sake Dudley, sit down!' he roared.
Dudley scuttled to the nearest chair and sat, perched on the edge of the chair, tense like he was getting ready to bolt at a moment's notice.
They sat in silence for an hour while Harry, Petunia and Vernon picked nervously at the food. Dudley, consistent as ever, quickly recovered from his fear and began shovelling food into his mouth.
Harry left the table disgusted.
The Dursleys were ready for nine o'clock and Vernon helped Harry load his trunk and new belongings into the boot of his car.
They drove in silence into London.
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