Honor to Serve
Chapter Two
Harry Potter knew that his Uncle Vernon was actually picking up both him and his cousin Dudley for the summer at King's Cross Station. It wasn't usual that both of them would arrive at the same time. With the Triwizard Tournament, though, Hogwarts was actually getting out a whole week early, which neatly lined up with Dudley's return from Smeltings. Of course, Harry was returning from nine and three quarters and Dudley from platform six, on a more conventional train than the magical steam train from Scotland.
This time was going to be different in many ways. First of all, Harry's trunk was not on the Hogwarts Express, and neither was Hedwig. When the Headmaster had said that he would need to talk to Aunt Petunia, Harry had not been shy, asking that Dumbledore handle the delivery of his stuff home. So the only luggage he had with him was the brief case which Neville had obtained for him. It was black leather, with gold clasps and a lock that could only be opened if his left thumb was on it. It went well with the white dress shirt, Hogwarts tie, and black trousers that he'd purchased in Hogsmead over the Winter Break to wear under his school robes. Regrettably, his belt did not match, so he'd forgone it.
Harry Potter was not returning to Privet Drive as the vagabond nephew that his uncle had forced him to be seen as. Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones had seen to that. On hearing why Harry had chosen to dress more formally than he did at Hogwarts, normally, to begin his summer vacation, they had immediately taken charge. He'd gotten a hair cut courtesy Susan. Hannah had charmed his shirt to be stain resistant, and retied his tie from a four-in-hand knot to a Windsor knot. Not that Harry really could tell the difference. The girls all said they could though.
As he caught a view of himself in the reflection of the window as he proceeded down the train to the exit, he had to admit that he didn't look all that bad. The new golden frames that Professor McGonagall had transfigured for him were actually the only part he really personally cared for though. After the black thick frames that Aunt Petunia had gotten him, and he'd worn for years, the light wire frames were so much better. He'd been admonished by Madam Pomfrey for updating his prescription by magic, though to be honest, he hadn't known that he was doing that.
Being only encumbered by his new briefcase, Harry was able to weave between the other students waiting for their parents and towing their trunks. It did not take long for him to exit platform nine and three quarters and set to look for his Uncle Vernon.
He found his Uncle standing between platforms three and four. Uncle Vernon had obviously come directly from work, judging by his dark gray jacket, matching trousers, starched white shirt, and official Grunnings Green tie. The tie was loosed, of course. It always was, by this time of day. Harry actually suspected that it barely reached Grunnings. Harry stepped up beside his uncle noticing that he seemed to be in an usually good mood. "Good Afternoon, Uncle Vernon," Harry said in the most respectful tone he could manage.
"Boy," Vernon responded. Harry was quite familiar with all the tones that word could be said in. Long practice had enabled him to judge that. Today it was a surprisingly neutral one, as if his uncle was focusing on something else. "Back from that school, and left your abnormal stuff behind."
"I thought I'd try looking respectable, for a change," Harry said, as a train came to stop. "That Dudley's train?"
"About time you did," Vernon said. "And if Dudley knows what's good for him, he should be on this train."
Harry knew that most of the reason he hadn't looked respectable was that he was using Dudley's hand-me-downs, rather than get his own. It really didn't bother him though. He had a great deal more freedom now that he was a legal adult in the Wizarding world, though he was sure that his Uncle Vernon didn't know that. Harry had to admit fantasizing for the last few years about what he would do when he could legally use magic, and now that it had came ... after Cedric's death, revenge on his relatives just didn't register as important.
Dudley emerged from the train shortly after it came to a stop. It was obvious that he hadn't decided to dress up. In fact it looked like he'd been working out right before he got on the train. His T-shirt was sweat stained, and he wore jeans instead of the maroon Smeltings uniform. Around his neck was a towel, and a ribbon with a gold medal hanging from it. It looked like Dudley had been wearing the ribbon for quite some time. He was towing a large suit case, about a third the size of Harry's trunk.
"Hi Dad, are we still waiting for the freak?" Dudley asked. "Mum said she was going to make custard tarts tonight, and I'm looking forward to it."
"She's making custard tarts?" Harry said. "I hope you leave me some of it for at least a taste, Dud."
"Harry?" Dudley said, his eyes finally focusing on his cousin. Harry could tell that his attire had caused his cousin to totally discount the possibility that Harry had arrived. "What are you dressed up for."
"Some of the girls in my class got a hold of me on the train," Harry said, with a shrug. "How far away is the Volvo parked, uncle?"
"Only two blocks, boys," Uncle Vernon said. "I got a good spot this time. Should be able to pull right out."
...
Pansy sat on the balcony that her new room shared with Draco's, looking out at the evening sun in the formal gardens. A cup of tea sat on the wrought iron table next to her, a blend that was new to her, but did wonders to wash out the taste of the potions that the healer had given her once she had arrived with Draco from Platform Nine and Three Quarters.
Her father had made a big scene there, even more so once Draco had shared his portkey to Malfoy Manor with her. To be perfectly honest, Draco's announcement of what they'd done to her father probably wasn't the best thing to do, but her father's response had certainly not been the best either. If she hadn't dodged, Pansy was sure that she wouldn't be dealing with a healing left hip. Her theory that her father would have beaten her until she miscarried was pretty much confirmed.
Draco was currently confined to his room, recovering from his own injuries. According to Draco's father, Pansy's father would be lucky to get out of Saint Mungo's before the Wizengamot Session ended. Draco may have suffered from a right broken hand, left foot, and two broken ribs, but he'd gotten them honorably in defending her from her much older and stronger father. Of course, most of Pansy's father's injuries had come from Draco's father's wand work.
Pansy had not expected her Summer vacation to begin like this. She'd actually been dreading coming home. She had expected to be beaten, when her father discovered what she and Draco had done. Her only hope had been that she could get that last ingredient for the potion and use it before her father found out, and she got beat until it wasn't an issue. She hadn't believed that Draco would help her. In fact, she had thought that Draco didn't want her anymore.
She certainly hadn't expected to be wearing the ring. Pansy had to look down at it. Intertwined snakes, with very small emerald eyes holding an almost uncomfortably large for the fifteen-year-old diamond between their heads ... it was a Slyterin ring, for sure. It was also the traditional ring for the Malfoy heir to give to his wife-to-be.
Draco had been surprising her all day. The first had been when he comforted her following her leaving the compartment she'd been sharing with the other Slytherin girls. Tracy Davis was going to regret saying that Draco never really wanted her. Draco's actions today had definitely not been those of a boy who did not want Pansy. It was too bad that they couldn't top off the day with what had gotten Pansy in trouble in the first place. Her hip wouldn't allow it, unfortunately.
"Pansy." She looked up to discover that Draco had somehow managed to convince a house elf to go against the healer's orders and assist him out onto the balcony. "We need to talk."
"Draco," Pansy said concerned, as her husband-to-be winced as he sat down next to her.
"No, it's not about our relationship," Draco said, his face showing that he was still in pain. "We can talk about that all we want, later. Better yet, do something with it when we're both recovered from our injuries."
"Then what do we need to talk about?" Pansy asked. It had to be important for Draco to come out to the balcony now.
"My father is a Death Eater, and the Dark Lord is back," Draco said flatly. Pansy knew both of those facts. "Father is also engaged in other illegal activities. I'm not sure about all of them, and there isn't much I can do about them, I'm only fifteen! You're my family now, and you need to know what I know."
...
Harry Potter had actually managed to get to sit in the front seat, beside his Uncle. He wasn't entirely certain that it was a good thing, but Dudley had practically pushed him to the seat, after Uncle Vernon had commented about Dudley's fragrance. Harry wished he had taken advantage of his ability to use magic to cast an air freshening charm. His uncle would have exploded if he did, so perhaps it was a good thing that he couldn't remember one.
It was the first time that he had been able to see Little Whinging through the front windshield, instead of a side window. The seat itself was a lot different. It was quite comfortable, even though he hadn't adjusted it from Aunt Petunia's settings. Aunt Petunia was thin, not an overweight walrus like his uncle, much closer to Harry's build. On his lap was his brief case. On the way from London, he'd popped it up briefly so he could look at a few documents that Neville and Ocie had fostered off on him. This Wizengamot thing was going to be a lot of work, he could tell already, at least if he wanted to do it right.
The Volvo turned on to Privet Drive, and Harry spotted the old Model A Delivery that the Headmaster had mentioned. "Evans' Family Garden Service," Harry read, as Uncle Vernon paused to let out the car from number three. "Related to Aunt Petunia?"
"It looks like Pet's grandfather's old van," Uncle Vernon said. "I think the gardening gene comes down from that part of the family. It certainly doesn't come from my side of the family."
"If you say so, Uncle Vernon," Harry said, then suddenly realizing that the statement wasn't the most politic he could make, added, "You're the one that found the right stuff for the rose bushes, though."
"I just did what I remembered Mr. Evans doing," Uncle Vernon said. Harry could tell that his uncle was regretting letting that car back out in front of him. "I worked for him a couple summers. It was good honest work, and how I met Pet." He finally was able to pull into the driveway, and directly into the open garage.
Harry got out, and decided to help his cousin get his trunk out of the boot. If he hadn't, he might have seen his uncle's first encounter with Albus Dumbledore in a decade. Instead, he just heard it.
"What are you doing to my yard, you ..." Uncle Vernon's voice was immediately cut off, as if a silence spell had been cast.
Harry and Dudley both ran out of the garage, finding Uncle Vernon standing before Albus Dumbledore, seemingly petrified in place, his mouth moving with no sound coming out. Dumbledore was standing on the front lawn, seemingly unconcerned, as he ran string between some stakes. "I'm starting to build your wife's front water garden," he said. "Harry, there is a detector with a spray can assembly in the back of my van. We need to mark the water, gas, and sewage lines before we start to dig, and I've never quite been able to trust the local authorities since the gas line blew in Godric's Hollow back in '72."
As Harry headed to the back of the van, he had no trouble hearing Dumbledore continue. In fact, Harry figured that no one on Privet Drive would have had trouble hearing. "Vernon Dursley, I am responsible for the grounds of Harry's school, along with Rubeus Hagrid. You may remember Hagrid. I've heard that he quite often reminds people not to insult me in front of him. He is good friends with your nephew, and through him, I've learnt quite a bit about Harry
"It seems the more I learn about your particular treatment of Harry, the more I wished that death by torture had not been removed from the books. It is fortunate that his aunt at least shows some remorse for her behavior. It would behoove yourself to think long and hard in that direction. We will be having a long talk this evening."
"Why are you doing the garden?" Harry asked, retrieving the device. He hoped to at least listen in on that talk. He imagined that it would be quite fascinating. "You've never been around before."
"You might call it penance, Harry," Dumbledore replied, "and a little bit of tribute. You see, this garden was in the main designed by two little girls, attempting to get their grandfather to build it in their front yard. Their mother was a bit against it. I found the plans after I bought the van at the grandfather's estate sale at the unknowing suggestion of a then fourth year youngest of those two little girls, your mother. She didn't want to see everything go to where she would never see it again."
"I last saw this van the last time I saw your mother," the soft voice coming from Aunt Petunia was totally unexpected. Somehow she'd passed Harry and was looking at the van. Her hand was on its side, just above the rear wheel well on the driver's side. "She said she'd borrowed it from the new owner. She had about a month to go with you, and I'd just had Dudley. I'd been hoping for a girl, and Lily chided me about it. I wanted a girl, still do." Petunia looked at her silent and petrified husband. "Vernon, stop fuming, you know it's not good for you, and I don't think that the Chief Warlock is going to give you the satisfaction of yelling at him."
Harry nearly dropped at his Aunt Petunia's comments, especially when he saw his uncle take a deep breath, and the redness start to drain out of his face. Then Dudley caused him to trip. "Yea, Dad, it's not good for you. Mum, my coach has given me a menu plan. I need to lose weight and keep up my exercise this summer. Dad, maybe you could join me in my five am run."
As Harry stumbled, he felt like his word had once again been jolted into another. Dudley running, getting up at five, mister sleep until noon every morning last summer? Aunt Petunia speaking softly, and admonishing Uncle Vernon about his temper. People got out of the way when Vernon Dursley was mad. That was a lesson that Harry Potter had learnt early.
"You don't want to have another heart attack, Vernon," Aunt Petunia said softly, as Uncle Vernon's body relaxed. Harry noticed his headmaster moving his finger in the finite incantatem pattern. Aunt Petunia kissed him, her hand grasping his tie. "Now, let's go inside were we can discuss my new front garden."
As Aunt Petunia guided Uncle Vernon indoors, Dudley said. "Harry, I don't think I'm going to want to take my trunk up to my room for a while. Mister Warlock, do you need any help?"