2
Harry was at the end of his tether. All day long, he'd been sat outside the window, waiting to hear the news, to see what was going on with Voldemort but instead Petunia was having a little tea party with her friends, all talking about the new neighbour.
Old Mrs Hess who lived next door, had decided to move to the country and stay with her son for some reason. Harry thought it was very strange, Mrs Hess had been incredibly angry about how her son had been gay, that it was unnatural. Her rants on the topic were many and varied.
It was one of the reasons why Petunia had liked her so much, she just knew that if Mrs Hess knew of magic she would support Petunia in her tirades of how freakish it was.
But despite the loss the of her friend, Petunia was very excited, as were her friends. The new tenant was apparently a handsome fellow, so young, so dashing, so accomplished.
They sighed in unison.
Vernon was excited too, glad to have some new blood in the neighbourhood, more than willing to show the chap around and point out the people and places he needed to avoid—such as that blasted nephew of his.
It was unnerving. There hadn't been so much excitement in Privet Drive in years, if ever. There were mostly middle aged family folk and the elderly who lived there, the twenties and thirties crowd tended to live closer to the city. Harry and Dudley's gang were some of the eldest 'children' around.
Harry thought it was suspicious but couldn't say anything. After all, as a student of St Brutus' home for criminally violent children or whatever the place was, his words had no weight at all. He sighed once more and got up from his place, deciding to go on a walk about the neighbourhood so he could hear himself think.
Two weeks were left for his birthday. It was the same every year, hiding from the Dursleys, eating the cakes sent by his friends in secret, letters and presents. Just once, he'd like to actually celebrate the day he was born. Once, to remind himself that he wasn't an accident of some kind. He'd like it if he didn't have to sing happy birthday to himself alone in his room.
He was turning fifteen soon. He'd always liked that number. A multiple of the first three odd numbers, 1,3, and 5. He remembered first year he'd talked about how five was his favourite number to Ron. The five times table was the easiest to remember, he'd said and Ron had looked at him blankly, asked what the use of five tables was unless they were having a big party. Even when he'd explained that in muggle primary school they had to learn multiplication tables, Ron had thought it was odd and then gone on to talk about how seven was supposed to be a special number in the magical world and how the Weasleys were the only family in Britain to have the magical number of seven children.
Harry didn't like seven. It was an ugly number. Now five, five was beautiful.
So he walked and counted his steps in sets of fives. It took thirty one sets of five to get to the park.
31 of 5. For the first time since he had returned with Cedric's unconscious body, Harry laughed. Another combination of the first three odd numbers.
"Something funny?" Asked a voice and Harry whirled, all but ready to whip out his wand but stopped at the last moment. A man stood in front of him, young but not too young with a wry little smile on his face.
He was almost pretty in a sharp, hawkish way but too tall to be considered so.
Young but not too young, Harry was certain he had found the new resident of Privet Drive.
"Just remembered something funny," Harry finally answered the question, shaking himself out of is daze to put his hand forward, "I'm Harry, Harry Potter."
"Mervin Quinlan." He said and shook Harry's hand. Harry felt shiverish all of a sudden. It made him wonder if Mervin was magic.
But Harry could guess what was happening. It had been a while since he had been touched by someone, after all. This had happened many times over the years, whenever his 'vacation' at the Dursleys ended and he was back in school again. It took a while to get accustomed to the Weasley boys throwing their arms around him casually, always did.
He hoped Mervin didn't notice but given the quizzical look he was shooting Harry his hopes were for naught.
He took his hands back and shoved them into his pockets to hide the tremor and changed the topic quick as he could. "So, why'd you choose Privet Drive of all places?"
Mervin's mouth quirked in a half smile, "I was passing through some time back and thought I saw an old acquaintance I had been looking for. Mrs Hess was looking to rent the house for a while and I needed a place to stay, so it was quite serendipitous."
"That's nice." Harry said and silence descended upon them. It brought home the realisation that Harry had no idea how to talk to someone, not really. Certainly not with someone not magical.
Mervin seemed undaunted by it though and asked, "Are there any places nearby that I should visit? Anything interesting nearby?"
"I don't really know?" Harry said tentatively, "I'm away most of the year at a boarding school, so..." He trailed off and the awkwardness grew but still, Mervin persevered.
"So, which house do you stay at?"
"Number 4, you'll be moving in right next door."
"Ah, so the Dursleys are-?"
"Petunia is my mother's sister." Harry said and left it at that. He couldn't lie so easily as to claim them as his family. They were related by blood, and through unfortunate circumstances they shared living spaces for a few months but Number 4, Privet Drive was not home, and they were not family.
This was getting out of hand and Harry didn't know what else he could possibly say. He simply smiled tightly and finally said, "I think I'm just going to make my way back now."
"Oh, of course, Would you mind awfully if I accompanied you? Only, we are going the same way and I'm not quite as familiar with the neighbourhood. Ended up here quite by accident actually, I was hoping to find my house." He laughed sheepishly and Harry had no choice but to acquiesce. As they walked Mervin asked about the houses, their residents and what they were like. Harry had never had many good experiences with them and could only give the man the barest of answers.
The Ewans lived four houses way, had two children, Mrs Ewan liked to play bridge and Mr Ewan worked at an accounting firm. That Mr Ewan frequently talked about how Harry was a drain on resources and advised Vernon on how to utilise him to get a tax pay-off went unmentioned. The Millers lived next door to them and they had a son who had gone to school with Harry and was now studying at Smeltings with Dudley. That the boy was a notorious bully and picked on young children with Dudley and Piers went unmentioned.
And so it went. They passed by houses and Harry named names. He could feel Mervin losing his patience but truly had no answers to give. When finally Number 4 came into their view, Harry was more than a little relieved. Carrying on conversations was clearly not something he was good at. Instead of parting ways as they should have though, Petunia, looking out the window as she always did had seen them come by and rushed out to greet Mervin, welcome him into their house and sit down for some tea.
Harry was shot a glare and told to put the kettle on.
He was more than willing to do so, just to get out of making small talk. As he filled the kettle with water he heard Petunia tell Mervin how sorry she was for her nephew, that he was a delinquent, a mad boy, violent you know? Got it from his father, she sighed and told him all about St Brutus'. The conversation then shifted, as most conversations with Petunia tended to do, to her darling son Dudley.
Harry came out with the tea tray in his arms and Mervin beamed up at him while Petunia sniffed, "Ah, Harry, your aunt was just telling me about your cousin!"
He shifted on the couch, clearly to make room for Harry and with a silent glare Petunia commanded him to sit and pretend. With a sigh, Harry sat down, tuning out Petunia's useless drabble and set about making the tea instead. He took his time with everything and with each calming breath he felt his mind clear, her shrill voice becoming background noise.
As the Potter boy's mind closed off, occluding itself, the few stray thoughts leaking from him suddenly shutting off, Tom was astounded and knew that he had been right to try and figure out the boy's powers.
