Chapter 2 :: Little Whinging
GRASPING another weed by its based, I gave it a sharp tug and removed it from the loose soil.
Adjusting to life at the Dursleys had not been pleasant, but yet surprisingly easy. Vernon and Petunia had an unending array of menial chores for me, and did not seem to expect any sort of response when issuing orders. So far I hadn't spoken a word since I had arrived in my strange new situation. Fortunate, as I was pretty certain I'd still sound distinctly American.
Dudley was the only one who seemed to have noticed a change. I can only imagine that the original Harry responded angrily to his childish taunts, but they had no impact on me. I felt only pity for Dudley; with the way his parents indulged him, he never really stood much of a chance of becoming a decent human being. He was not happy about my change in attitude, and while he had ceased his verbal harassment, his sullen gaze often tracked me as I went about my chores. The rage building in his piggish mind was plain to see, and I worried he'd soon try to escalate the situation.
Still, so far I had made it through a week without any major incidents, and had even managed to uncover a few pieces of information. A surreptitious glance while disposing of Vernon's Sunday paper the previous day had told me that it was mid-June in 1991.
I'd quickly learned that if I remained very quiet and seemingly focused on whatever chore I was assigned, Vernon and Petunia would ignore my presence and speak as if I weren't there. Yesterday, I'd overheard them quietly discussing plans to take Dudley to the zoo for his upcoming birthday.
Now, on hands and knees as I weeded the front garden of Number 4, Privet Drive, I began to seriously consider what I was going to do. The first few days, I awoke each morning expecting to find myself back in the real world.
I eventually had to admit to myself the reality of my new situation, and knew that the fragile peace I had established with the Dursleys would be shattered the moment my Hogwarts letter arrived; even if I managed to avoid an incident at the zoo during Dudley's birthday.
A thrill of excitement ran through me when I realized the full implications of receiving a Hogwarts letter. I'm going to learn magic! Unable to help myself, I let out a small whoop of joy at the notion, and indulged in daydreams of being a wizard for a while; a pleasant respite from the drudgery of gardening.
The wanderings of my imagination inevitably led me back to the many difficulties I'd soon be facing. I was an adult American, locked in the body of a British ten year old - and not just any ten year old, but Harry Potter, the hero of one of my favorite series of fantasy books. Coming clean didn't really seem like an option; I doubted even Dumbledore would believe me and honesty would probably just land me in the St. Mungo's Ward for the Incurably Insane. Given the Headmaster's reputation as a master Leglimens, I'd have to be very careful indeed once I arrived at Hogwarts.
At present, however, my biggest concern remained the Dursleys. I tried to stick to the motto of 'be seen, not heard,' and it mostly worked well with Vernon and Petunia, but Dudley was another matter. In my more lucid moments I felt bad for the boy, for he was only a product of his environment, in this case terrible parenting. Yet it was hard to remain aloof when Dudley took such delight in punching, shoving, tripping, and chasing me whenever an opportunity presented itself - in other words, whenever he could tear himself away from stuffing himself with food or staring at the television.
I didn't have many options of dealing with him. Even if I confront him and scare him into leaving me alone, he'd just run straight to Vernon and Petunia, and they could be much more problematic than their son. Though a little ashamed to admit it, Vernon's size and power scared me; my scrawny eleven year old body was defenseless against his bulk.
No, I had to get away from the Dursleys and secure some measure of independence, somewhere I could lay low until the time came to go to Hogwarts. My mind mulled over this issue as my hands picked weeds out of the loose dirt. I had to grasp them right at the base as I plucked them, or the stalks would tear and the roots would be left in the ground, and I intuited that I must come at my current problem the same way.
If I simply approached the Dursleys with a proposition, I was bound to fail. It came down to a bargain - I had to offer them something, in return for their permission to leave, and probably a ride to London. Yet they held all the cards, and would simply take whatever I offered them and give me nothing in return. What I needed was some kind of leverage, a firm grip which wouldn't break when I started to pull.
The flower beds were empty of weeds, which were now heaped in a pile in the grass. Scooping them up, I carried them to the bin and dropped them in, barely cognisant of my actions. A plan of action was slowly taking shape in my head; some of the details needed to be worked out, but I figured this was as good a shot as I was going to get. I'd have to be ready and vigilant, but it could work.
The opportunity to complete the first phase of my plan came seventeen days later, on the fourth of July. I knew the day had no significance to the British, but the American in me smiled with pleasure at the symbolism. My ticket to freedom, coming on Independence Day.
I wiped the smile off my face and slid the thick yellow envelope up my shirt and under my waistband in a single, practiced motion. I'd felt a bit silly, stuffing a folded up old assignment I'd found under the mattress in my cupboard over and over again in the darkness, but it had given me something to do. And, it had been worth it. My hand had just reemerged from beneath my shirt when Dudley's smirking face appeared from around the stairs.
'Oy, give me that, freak! The tickets are 'sposed to be here any day now!'
He snatched the stack of mail from my hands and lumbered to the kitchen, throwing letters over his shoulder as they proved not to be whatever tickets he was expecting. Satisfied that his attention was now occupied, I darted into my cupboard and shoved the letter under my mattress, and then hurried back out and trailed Dudley at a safe distance into the kitchen, picking up the trail of discarded mail he'd left in his wake. Any mess was blamed on me, and one of Dudley's favorite hobbies was getting me in trouble.
The opportunity to complete the second phase of my plan came after another two days. It was Saturday, and Vernon had taken Dudley to the cinema for a matinee of the latest action flick. I was now alone in Number Four Privet Drive with Petunia Dursley, and it was time to play my hand.
I waited until I heard the teapot whistling in the kitchen early in the afternoon; Petunia was nothing if not predictable. Vernon would still be in a movie theater, unreachable for at least another hour. This was critical to my plan - from everything I'd seen so far, Petunia might be reasoned with, even bullied, but Vernon would respond forcefully to any challenge of his authority, certainly from a defenseless eleven year old.
Slipping into my cupboard, I grabbed the letter. Two nights ago I had crumpled and uncrumpled it over and over, to give it an aged, tattered look. The envelope it had came in I'd shredded to pieces and then put down the drain the next time I'd done the dishes. My hands shook with adrenaline and I took a few deep breaths, calming the jitters, then squared my shoulders and strode confidently into the kitchen.
Petunia was sitting at the table, stirring sugar into her tea. She seemed surprised at my entrance, no doubt due to the sudden shift in my demeanor. Her eyes tightened in anger and she opened her mouth, no doubt ready to reprimand me for attitude, but then she saw the letter in my hands and her face cycled rapidly through several emotions. Confusion, then dawning understanding, and then a hint of uncertainty, maybe even fear. Good.
I didn't give her a chance to get her bearings.
"I know everything," I said.
I watched her reaction closely. The uncertainty and fear were gone; her eyes had gone blank, looking inwards, considering. Petunia might be a horrible person, but she wasn't a total idiot. She was evaluating her options, trying to not give anything away. I didn't give her too much time to think, keeping her off balance was my best chance of getting her to go along with what I wanted.
"I know how my parents died. I also know why I'm here, and where I'll be in September. I know Vernon won't like it, and that he'll try to stop it. I also know how much chance a Muggle has of interfering in the affairs of Wizards."
I'd rehearsed that little speech in my head constantly the past few weeks. Petunia's face had gone white, the hand with which she'd been stirring her tea now frozen in place. I paused for a few more beats, waiting for the shock to leave her face and for the considering look to return. She recovered slightly less quickly this time, not surprising given the series of revelations I'd unleashed.
"I have a proposal. Cooperate with me, and Vernon and Dudley will never know anything about any of this. I'll return and live here for one month every summer for the next six summers, until I'm of age. This is required of me by Headmaster Dumbledore or I would not trouble you with my presence. My cupboard will be suitable, and I will not require meals, but I will no longer do any cooking or cleaning. I will continue to garden to maintain appearances to the neighbors, and I'll corroborate whatever story you'd like to tell about where I am the rest of the year."
"All I require of you is one hundred pounds, which I will repay when I arrive for my stay here next summer, and transportation to London at your earliest convenience. Drive me there, or get me on a train or a bus, I don't care."
I stopped speaking again. I'd been prepared for Petunia to try to interrupt me, or even fly into a rage and scream at me, but she was taking it all quite calmly. I'd tried to sound as adult as possible, to further imbalance her psyche. I needed her to see me like an adult long enough to strike a bargain with me, and figured shocking her with my knowledge of the Wizarding world and my adult demeanor might do the trick. Waiting until she had sat down for tea put us roughly at eye level; I needed every advantage possible to make this work. And it seemed to be paying off.
Long moments of silence passed, but I felt calm and in control. A nice change after weeks of feeling like a mouse in a room with three hungry cats. Petunia had her thinking face on, and now I let her think. My hand was played. I hadn't made any threats, and had tried to appeal to her pathological need to maintain appearances. But I had also implied that Wizards wouldn't like their affairs being messed with, and then name-dropped Dumbledore.
"Very well," Petunia finally said. Her tone was brisque, all business. "Are you ready to leave now?"
It was all I could to do keep from grinning.
An hour later, I was sitting on a train headed east, watching the landscape hurtle by as I steadily drew closer to London. Five crisp twenty pound notes from Petunia were in the pocket of the pair of Dudley's poorly fitting castoffs I wore, folded into my worn Hogwarts letter. Beyond that, I didn't have a single possession in the world, and it felt great. I felt light and free, a world of possibilities awaiting, and I was shooting towards it with the inexorable momentum of a hundred tons of steel.