Harry was woken up early the next morning by the ringing of his alarm clock. And, even though he knew he needed to be up and dressed to the journey to his relatives' home in Little Whinging soon, he couldn't help laying his head back against his pillow for a moment as his mind lingered on the dream he'd been having just before he woke.
Perhaps it was the result of his brain attempting to allow him a bit of fun before he was off to the Dursleys', but the dream had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it and if he closed his eyes he could almost hear the rumbling purr of the bike's engine still. The dream felt familiar somehow. As though it were one he had had before.
In any case, dreams about flying – whether on his broomstick or by motorcycle – were, in his opinion, far more preferred to the occasional nightmare he had about the night his parents had been murdered.
The alarm clock, having switching itself back on from its snooze setting, was able to rouse Harry before he could fully slip to sleep. This time he switched it off properly and got out of bed.
After fixing the covers back into place on his bed, Harry set about getting dressed for the day as he pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that he had set out the night before. Once he had laced up his boots he was out the door and making his way down to the ground floor.
Harry's grandad was already up and waiting for him when he entered the dining hall. As always, when he saw his grandad in the uniform of the Abhorsen, Harry could not help stopping to stare at the impressive figure the older wizard cut.
Grandad was dressed in a resplendent surcoat of black acromantula silk that was emblazoned with hundreds minute keys embroidered in silver thread. Underneath the surcoat he wore a pair of dragon-hide trousers with armored segments embedded within the shins and jerkin of the same material. A battle scarred pauldron bearing a crossed pair of silver keys was buckled in place over his right shoulder while a pair of vambraces and gloves adorned both of his lower arms. Overtop of the surcoat were his bell bandoleer, which was buckled diagonally across his chest, and his sword belt at round his wait with his sword Nemein sheathed at his left hip and dagger across his lower back. Harry knew that these three items were only his grandad's most obvious weapons.
"Pell-Mell's prepared bacon sandwiches for breakfast and I've already shrunk your trunk for the journey," Grandad informed him as he joined the older wizard at the table. "We'll head out for Little Whinging once you're finished eating."
"Alright," Harry agreed, taking a sip of his orange juice and trying valiantly to ignore Fea, who was eating her strips of streaky bacon raw.
At a quarter to seven the trio exited Agesander's Hall and made their way along the ait's flagstone path to the east garden where the Great Elder Tree grew. At the moment the ancient tree's branches were bowed beneath the bounty reddish hued berries that were beginning ripen.
"Fea, if you would be so kind," Harry's grandad asked the creature of magic perched upon his shoulder.
Without a word, Fea slid from her master's shoulder and shed her raven-form. For a moment she hovered in the air before the elder tree as a living shadow with a corona of silver light hovering around her middle and then within an instance she had settled herself before them in the form of a thestral.
Since Fea had only assumed the form of a thestral and had not actually become one, Harry could still see her. A real thestral could only be seen by someone who had seen someone die or had gained a sufficient understanding of death. Harry had been too young to fully comprehend his parents' deaths when he had witnessed them and he was not far enough into his readings of The Book of the Dead for either scenario to apply.
As a thestral Fea appeared before them in the form of a skeletal black horse-like creature with vast bat-like wings. Her long face was vaguely draconian with curved fangs protruding from between her fleshy lips.
While Fea was fiddling with silver bit between her teeth, Harry's grandad seized him underneath the arms and hoisted him up onto Fea's silken back.
"Remember to tuck your knees behind her wing joints," Grandad reminded him, then he swung himself up onto Fea's back just behind Harry. "Now," he went on drawing his wand from the holster along the inner forearm of his left vambrace, "only one more thing to do – vela textura!"
As his grandad cast the Disillusionment Charm, he tapped Harry on the top of the head with his wand, then himself, and finally Fea. Harry was left with the unpleasant feeling of an egg being broken over his head as the spell began to trickle down over his body from the point from which the wand had connected.
"I truly dislike that spell," Fea grumbled beneath them as she gave a full body shudder. "It may do its job, but I feel as though I've been rolling about in a pond of stagnant water."
The spell had indeed done its job Harry observed as he looked down at his body, or rather, what had been his body since it didn't particularly look anything like his anymore. None of them were invisible, of course, since that wasn't what a Disillusionment Charm did. Instead, the three of them had taken on the exact color and texture of the garden around them much like how an octopus camouflage itself.
"Alright," Grandad said, seizing the reins of Fea's silver bridle. "Off we go."
In an instant, Fea's great wings unfurled themselves on either side of Harry and his grandad as she coiled her legs beneath her in a decidedly unhorse-like crouch, then she launched herself up into the air with the speed of a shot fired from a cannon.
Now airborne, Fea circled Abhorsen's Ait once giving her riders a bird's eye view of the slate roof and decorative chimney pots of Agesander's Hall as well as the ait's encircling groves of alder, ash, and willow. She then turned to soar out over the placid flow of the river. The morning sun was shining directly into their eyes as they began their eastward journey down the river towards the Dursleys' hometown.
The trio weren't long into their journey before Harry found himself feeling rather grateful that his grandad had insisted that he pull on his denim jacket before they had left the Hall. Because even with the heat of the summer sun beaming down on them, Harry soon found himself feeling quite chilled by the damp wind whistling up around them as they past.
"Not too long now," Grandad said, shouting so that he could be heard over the wind.
Harry canted his head to the side so that he could see the ground far below them. They were passing over several bodies of water that looked as though they could have been a series of lakes, but Harry knew that they were in fact a cluster of reservoirs instead since they were flying over Stanwell Moor if he wasn't mistaken.
A short while later they were angling southward again as they soared across the River Thames again. If Harry's mental map was correct, and he was fairly certain that it was, then they had just crossed the border from Berkshire into Surrey.
It felt like it was no more than a few wingbeats later that the winding streets of Little Whinging appeared beneath them with their rows upon rows of identical houses.
"Best start heading down, Fea!" Grandad called. "Otherwise we'll never be able to see which house is which."
Instead of answering Fea banked sharply to the left jostling her riders and began to circle the town in lower and lower revolutions. Meanwhile, both Harry and his grandad began scanning the streets below them for the correct back garden to land in.
"There," Harry cried, pointing to a house with both a small greenhouse and a large oak tree in its back garden. A sure sign that it was his relatives' home of number four Privet Drive.
In no time at all, Fea was headed towards the ground. Harry felt his grandad snake an arm around his middle, bracing him for the landing, then a moment later Fea touched down on the immaculately cut grass of number four's garden as lightly as a feather.
Harry's grandad slid off of Fea's back and then helped Harry down as well. The pair of them had no sooner taken a single step away from Fea before she'd launched herself back into the air and shifted back to her raven form; the Disillusionment Charm sliding from her feathers like water from a duck's back.
Harry and his grandad however had to have the spell removed by more conventional means with Harry's grandad rapping each of them on top of the head with his wand and muttering the counter-spell.
"Better," Fea muttered approvingly as she landed upon Harry's shoulder and began preening his windblown hair back into some semblance of order.
"Glad you think so, dear-heart," Grandad chuckled, returning his wand to the holster in his vambrace.
Harry, meanwhile, approached the backdoor of number four and knocked on it. It was opened a moment later by his aunt.
Petunia Dursley was a tall, slender woman with her strawberry blonde hair currently cut in a style reminiscent of the Princess of Wale's. As always, she looked rather putout to see Harry standing in her back garden.
"Well, come on then," she hissed at them. "Get in here before the neighbors see the lot of you ."
"Of course, Tuney," Grandad replied, seemingly oblivious to his daughter's less than warm welcome.
Both Harry's uncle and his cousin are at the kitchen table finishing their breakfast when he and his grandad follow Aunt Petunia into the house. Years of animosity towards his magical relations ensured that Uncle Vernon was glaring at them irritably overtop of his newspaper. Dudley, on the other hand, didn't even bother to look up from shoveling his next bite of bubble and squeak into his gob.
"I do wish that you weren't stopping by on such short notice, Daddy," Aunt Petunia said as she bustled over to the table and began clearing away the dirty dishes and cutlery. "It's our Dudley's birthday tomorrow after all."
"I can't control where the International Confederation of Wizards sends me, Petunia," Grandad chided her gently. "And it's not as though I've come empty handed," he added, producing an immaculately wrapped present seemingly out of thin air.
The sight of the shiny blue paper was actually enough of an incentive to get Dudley to abandon the last couple of bites remaining on his plate.
"What did you get me," he demanded, making grabby hands for the parcel.
"Now hold on," Uncle Vernon barked, setting aside his newspaper and eyeing the parcel as though he half expected it to explode. "You had better not be trying to give my son anything unnatural."
"You do know that I have bought presents for non-magical children before don't you," Grandad asked him conversationally.
Uncle Vernon harrumphed, but voiced no further protest as Grandad placed the parcel on the table.
"I can open it now, right," Dudley demanded, seizing the present and giving it a vigorous shake as if the rattle it made might help him figure out what it was.
"Of course, Popkin," Aunt Petunia cooed, as Dudley began tearing the blue wrapping paper to shreds. Inside was a colorfully packaged video game with Dynablaster scrawled across the front of it in cartoonish letters. Accompanying it was a rather large set of batteries in clamshell packaging, as well.
"Brilliant," Dudley crowed. "Piers doesn't even have this game yet. He's going to be so jealous!"
Even with Fea perched on his shoulder Harry couldn't resisted rolling his eyes at this. Of course, that would be the only reason Dudley would want anything.
"So, will you be going somewhere special for your birthday, Dudley," Grandad asked with interest, but Dudley didn't answer. He was too busy trying to pry his new game cartridge from its packaging.
"Well, we were going to go to the zoo in Chessington," said Aunt Petunia huffily. "But an animal escaped there yesterday and it still hasn't been caught, so we have had to change our plans."
Oops, Harry thought, remembering the escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor.
"So, we'll be going to the cinema instead," she added. "We were actually trying to figure out which movie we're going to go see when you arrived."
"I want to see the new Terminator movie, but Mum won't let me," Dudley whinged.
"You're too young to see an R rated movie, Dudley," Aunt Petunia reminded him.
"And Dad says we can't see Drop Dead Fred either," he went on, ignoring his mother's rebuke.
"I don't want you seeing some rubbish about an 'imaginary' friend being real," Uncle Vernon growled, casting a suspicious glance at both his father-in-law and Harry. "Not to mention it might give someone dangerous ideas."
"So, we're left choosing between Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves or Kindergarten Cop," Aunt Petunia finished.
Grandad gave a hum of interest.
"You know, if I'm not mistaken I think the ghost of my old house at school is that of Friar Tuck," he said wryly.
Uncle Vernon seemed to choke on nothing but air, while Aunt Petunia immediately rolled her eyes beseechingly towards the ceiling.
"Daddy," she sighed in exasperation.
"What," he asked entirely too innocently and both Harry and his cousin shared a snigger.
"Anyway," Aunt Petunia began curtly. She seemed determined to change the topic. "I expect we should let you let you know that we will be going to Plucky Pennywhistle's Pizza Playhouse after we finish at the cinema – we just had to make up the change to plans to Dudley, you know," she added, "and since we'll be out of the house all day tomorrow Vernon and I were thinking that it might be best for Harry to spend the day with Mrs. Figg."
Any excitement Harry had begun to feel at the thought of a trip to the movies vanished immediately at this announcement. Mrs. Figg was the Dursleys preferred babysitter for both his cousin and himself whenever he had to stay on Privet Drive and neither of them could stand the daft old lady. Her whole house smelled of boiling cabbage and she delighted in making anyone who stayed in her home for more than a few moments look at photograph of all the cats she had ever owned.
"You know, Petunia, if it's a matter of the expense of another ticket, then I'm more than happy to cover the cost for Harry," Grandad said kindly. "I know the recession has been hard on a lot of non-magical businesses."
Three things happened immediately after he said this: The first was Aunt Petunia puffing up in indignation – "We are quite capable of getting by without your help," she snarled. The second was a rather greedy gleam appearing in Uncle Vernon's beady blue eyes. After all, the man may have hated his magical in-laws, but it was obvious that this hatred of all things magical did not extend to wizarding gold as he spluttered out, "Now, Pet. Don't be too hasty – if he wants to pay for the boy we should let him." However, it was what happened third that seemed to decide the matter.
"I don't want him to come!" Dudley bellowed at the top of this lungs. He followed this up by pretending to breakdown into tears. Dudley knew after all that if he screwed up his face and began to wail, then his parents would give him anything he wanted.
"Oh, Diddykins, don't cry, Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!" Aunt Petunia cried, immediately caving to her sons wishes.
"I-It's … not … fair!" Dudley wailed, between huge, pretend sobs. "It's … my … birthday … and … I … don't … want … him … t-to … spoil … it!"
"Of course, not," Aunt Petunia cooed, throwing her arms around her son.
Spoilt baby, Harry mentally sneered as his cousin shot him a rather nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.
Grandad cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Well, that's that, I suppose…," he said, giving a sideways look of bemusement at his eldest grandson's behavior. "Anyway," he went on, now addressing Harry. "It would probably be best if we got your things up to the guest bedroom while your aunt takes care of your cousin."
From the kitchen they headed down the hall and up the stairs. The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms, all of which were located on the second floor. One was for Harry's aunt and uncle, one where Dudley slept, one where Dudley kept all of the toys and things that were unable to fit into his first bedroom, and one for guests.
This guestroom was Harry's home away from home whenever he had to stay with his aunt and uncle. Unless, of course, the Dursleys were entertaining other visitors, such as Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge. And then, he was shuffled off amongst the clutter of his cousin's second bedroom.
Harry's once real complaint about the room was just how girly it was. The walls were a dark, dusty rose hue with a border of vines and roses along the uppermost part of the wall. The duvet on the bed had the same pattern, and so did the lace bedskirt and the pillows up against the headboard. As for the furniture it was entirely white – the bed, bedside table, dresser, bookcase, and desk and chair set – and woe be to anyone who put so much as a scuff on any of it.
"I'll put your trunk at the foot of the bed, alright," said Grandad, sinking his arm up to his elbow into the magical expanded pouch on his sword belt.
The trunk he fished out of the pouch was about the size of a matchbox. He then placed it at the foot of the bed, took a step backward, drew his wand and intoned the incantation for an Engorgement Charm to return it to normal size in a flash of icy blue spell-light.
"Hey, Grandad," Harry called seating himself on the edge of the bed. "What happens if my Hogwarts letter comes while you're still in Germany? I mean Aunt Petunia doesn't have an owl or anything..."
Two pair of bright green eyes met one another as Harry's grandad answered him.
"I've already thought of that," he said. "Once Fea drops me off in London I'll be sending her back her to stay with you… She can carry your reply to Hogwarts and she'll serve as a bit of extra security when you go to pick up your school supplies afterward."
"D'you think you'll be gone that long then?" Harry couldn't help asking. The sight of his grandad presenting his cousin with a birthday present had gotten him wondering about his own birthday at the end of the next month. "What I mean," he went on, flushing slightly in embarrassment. "Is do you think you'll be back in time for my birthday, that is…."
"Oh, Harry," Grandad sighed, coming to sit beside him on the horrible rosy bed and slinging his unarmored arm about Harry's thin shoulders. "I won't make you a promise that I have no way of knowing if I'll be able to keep. However, I do promise that we'll celebrate your birthday properly as soon as I'm back in the country. Alright?"
"Alright," Harry mumbled. Not feeling quite sure if this made him feel better or not.
All too soon Harry's grandad was giving him a hug good-bye and then he and Fea were out the door and winging their way to London.
Later that evening Fea returned to number four. Soaring in through the guestroom window and electing to perch upon the top rung of the chair's ladderback.
Harry, who had spent his day doing his best to stay out of his relatives' way, looked up from where he'd been trying to muddle his way through The Fellowship of the Ring.
"You know Fea," he said, marking his place and setting the book aside. "I managed The Hobbit just fine on my own, but this is just…."
He trailed off in frustration earning him a chuckle from the raven.
"Give it time fledging. I'm not sure that cousin of yours could manage even The Hobbit on his own.
"More likely he'd have no interest in it at all," Harry informed her.
When he'd stayed in Dudley's second bedroom on his last visit with the Dursleys the room had been packed full of things his cousin had discarded. Everything thing from a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for an air rifle, which had been cast aside after Dudley had bent up the barrel by sitting on it, to a television set with the screen all busted out from where his cousin had put his foot through it after his favorite program had been canceled. In fact, the only thing in the room that looked as though it had never been touched were the shelves of books.
"True," Fea conceded.
"Did Grandad get off alright?" Harry asked.
Fea didn't answer. Instead she gave a bob of her head as though she were about to be sick.
"Ugh!" Harry exclaimed, recoiling in disgust, only to freeze as a small metallic object fell from Fea's beak and went bouncing across the floor.
"Abhorsen insisted that you have this while we're both staying here," Fea informed him.
"What is it?" Harry asked, climbing off of the bed and bending down to pick the thing that she had coughed up. Now that he was closer he realized that the object was in fact a small silver ring with a silvery-blue moonstone set into the band.
"Very old," Fea replied enigmatically. "You'll know if you need to use it. Put it on. Your grandfather usually wears it on his ring finger."
Harry examined the ring closely, holding it between two fingers as he held in the beam of light cast by the reading lamp on the bedside table. Indeed, the ring was an exact miniature of the one his grandad wore on his right hand.
"Is it magic or something," he asked, because the ring looked and felt quite ordinary. There were no runes or sigils on either the stone or band and it didn't seem to be producing any sort of aura – not that Harry was any sort of expert on the matter. And so, without further ado he put it on.
The ring was quite cold as he slipped it on, then it became suddenly hot, and then suddenly it felt as if Harry were falling, falling into infinity, into a void that had no end and no beginning. Then suddenly streamers of light in colors and hues he had never seen or been able to perceive before burst into being before his eyes like fireworks. The streamers of light coiled around him in endless sigils of purpose and intent, halting his fall into nothingness and lifting him back up into his body and into a world of life and death.
"Magic…pure magic," Harry breathed, tasting the tang of ozone on his tongue as his stared at he the ring shining innocently on his finger. "But somehow not, too… I don't understand."
"You'll know if you need to use it," Fea repeated dully, almost as if she were repeating some lesson she had had to learn by rote. Then, in her normal crackling contralto she added, "Don't worry about it until then. You'll need to keep your panpipes on you as well."
Any thought Harry had had about a restful summer holiday evaporated the next morning when his aunt woke him at barley half past six by hammering away on the guestroom door.
"Up!" called Aunt Petunia, her shrill voice ringing through the door. "Get up! Now!"
This was of course followed by another series of knocks, then Harry heard the sound of her footsteps as she walked away from the door and down the hall towards the staircase. Most likely so that she could begin banging about in the kitchen downstairs.
"Best get up Fledgling," Fea grumbled from her perch atop the bed's headboard.
"Yeah, yeah," Harry grumbled, retrieving his spectacles from the bedside table and sliding them on. He couldn't wait for the day when he was old enough to have his vision fixed for good.
He had just began shedding his pajamas when his aunt appeared outside the door again.
"Are you up yet?" she demanded.
"Nearly," Harry called, fetching a pair of jeans from his trunk and shaking the creases out of them.
"Well, get a move on," she snapped. "I want you in the kitchen within the next five minutes, understood? You'll be helping me with the breakfast."
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," he droned, and seemingly placated she left once again.
Not wishing to give her a reason to come back and nag him some more, Harry finished dressing quickly. He then exited the guestroom – leaving Fea to return to her dozing – and headed downstairs.
Upon entering the kitchen, the first thing Harry noticed was that the table was almost completely hidden beneath all of his cousin's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten everything he could have thought to ask for and a few more things he hadn't. It wasn't much of a gamble for Harry to guess that at least one of the parcels contained the new computer and second television Dudley had been whinging about through dinner the night before and the sleek shiny racing bike beside the table with an oversized bow attached to its handlebars more than spoke for itself.
Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley hated exercise of any sort – unless, of course, it involved punching somebody. Uncle Vernon often said that this was just Dudley being assertive. Harry, however, was of this opinion that this made his cousin a bullying git.
"Mind the bacon and try not to let it burn," ordered Aunt Petunia. "I'm going to see if I can get Dudley up."
Even though Pell-Mell did the cooking at Agesander's Hall neither Harry nor his grandad were helpless in the kitchen. Pell-Mell had begun teaching Harry how to prepare simple meals around the same time he'd begun his training as Abhorsen-in-Waiting.
Harry had just begun turning the bacon over when Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen.
"Do you never comb that rat's nest on your head?" he growled as soon as he caught sight of Harry.
And it begins, Harry grumbled mentally. It never failed that every time he had to stay at number four his uncle had to lay into him about the fact that his hair was a perpetual mess and no amount of combing was going to change that.
He had just taken up the bacon and had begun frying a half a dozen eggs when his cousin and aunt arrived in the kitchen. Harry hadn't thought much of it the day before, but every time he saw his cousin the other boy's resemblance to his father had increased. Both of them were bulkily built with heads that sat almost directly atop their shoulders with hardly any neck to speak of. The only real difference between the two of them was that Uncle Vernon's hair was the color as black shoe polish while Dudley's hair was the same reddish blond color as Aunt Petunia's.
Once everything had finished cooking both Harry and his aunt set about trying to find enough room on the kitchen table to serve up the food. It was a bit difficult as there wasn't much room left on the table at all, but with the shuffling of a few parcels they made due. While Harry and Aunt Petunia were doing this, Uncle Vernon was watching his son count his presents.
For some reason that Harry couldn't fathom the other boy's face fell as he finished.
"There's only thirty-six," said Dudley, his watery blue eyes narrowing in his bulbous face. "That's two less than last year."
"Yes, well some of them are quite a bit bigger than last years'," said Uncle Vernon, gesturing to two rather large parcels that were too big to even fit on top of the table.
Dudley scowled. "I don't care how big they are!" he shouted, going red in the face.
Harry, who could see one of his cousin's tantrums coming on, began relocating the plates of bacon, eggs, and toast to the kitchen counter as fast as possible. He didn't not want to deal with the mess of broken dishes and spilled food if Dudley decided to turn the table over like he had the Christmas before last.
Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly. "Darling, you haven't counted your present from Aunt Marge or your father's cousin, Laura. See, they're under this big one from Mummy and Daddy. That's two more presents, popkin. So you have just as many presents as last year. And we'll buy you another present while we're out today. How's that, sweetie?"
The high color faded from Dudley's face as he seemed to mull this over. Finally, he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty … er … thirty …"
"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia, the smile on her face appearing rather fixed.
"Oh," Dudley hummed, sitting down heavily and seizing the nearest parcel. "All right then."
Uncle Vernon chuckled.
"Little man wants his money's worth, just like this father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" he said, ruffling his son's hair. Apparently oblivious to the sharp look Aunt Petunia shot at him overtop Dudley's blond head.
"Help me reset the table, Harry," she asked, then voice quiet so as to not be overheard, she added, "Good work getting the plates out of harm's way… I rather like this set, you know."
They were about halfway through breakfast when the telephone began to ring. Aunt Petunia went into the hall to answer it while Harry and his uncle watched Dudley begin to work his way through his massive pile of presents. He removed the bow from the racing bike first and then unwrapped a cine-camera, a remote-control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a video recorder. He was in the middle of ripping the paper off of a ridiculously expensive looking wristwatch from his Aunt Marge when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking rather anxious.
"Now Dudley I know you wanted for your special day to be just your friend Piers and Mummy and Daddy," she began carefully. "But that was Mrs. Figg on the telephone. She's down at the A&E with a broken leg, so your cousin is going to have to come with us, okay?"
Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, while Harry's heart gave a leap of joy. He knew he ought to sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when it meant that he wouldn't be shut up in her house with her and Tibbles, Tufty, Snowy, and however many other fur balls she had acquired since his last visit.
"What do you mean he's coming with us?" Uncle Vernon demanded, throwing a furious look at Harry as though he had planned this. "Why can't we phone Marge, instead?"
"After what happened last time do you really want me to answer that," snapped Aunt Petunia.
Last time Harry had been left alone with Marge Dursley he had ended up treed like a cat in number four's back garden when one of Marge's prizewinning bulldogs went after him.
"What about Cousin Laura then?" Uncle Vernon wheedled.
"Both she and her husband are coppers they're probably working," she reminded him sharply.
"I could just stay here," Harry piped in (he could practice his katas in the garden and then maybe watch a bit of television if he didn't feel like reading afterwards).
"You are too young to be without supervision," his aunt snapped at him. "And Fea does not count!" She then rounded on her husband, "He's coming. That's final."
Apparently both Dursley men knew better than to argue with Aunt Petunia when she used that tone of voice, because neither of them made so much as a peep afterwards.
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang signaling the arrival of Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, and his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy even thinner than Harry with a narrow face and large ears that made him look like a rat. Unlike Dudley, whose favorite pastime was punching people, Piers enjoyed holding people's arms behind their backs while Dudley used them as a punching bag.
In short order, Harry, the Dursleys and Piers were all sitting in Uncle Vernon's car and on their way to the cinema in Guildford. However, before they had left, Uncle Vernon had taken the time to pull Harry aside for some last-minute threatening.
"Now, I'm warning you, boy," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's. "Any of your usual funny business, anything at all – and you'll be confined to that bedroom for the remainder of your stay. Do you hear me…?"
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry muttered dutifully, all the while scoffing mentally.
'Funny business' was Uncle Vernon's term for anything magical – whether it was intentional or accidental; not that Uncle Vernon believed that any of the magic Harry managed in front of him was 'accidental'.
As they drove along the motorway Uncle Vernon was having a high old time complaining to Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon liked to complain about things. A few of his favorite topics were: people at work, Harry, the state of the government, Harry, the bank, and Harry…. This morning, however, he was complaining about motorcycles.
"… roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he growled, as a motorcycle overtook them.
"I had a dream about a motorcycle the other night," said Harry, remembering suddenly. "It was flying."
Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front of them as he turned right around in his seat to yell at Harry, his face like a gigantic beetroot with a mustache.
"MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"
Piers sniggered, but Dudley and his mother exchanged anxious looks.
"That's what you know," Harry muttered mulishly under his breath. He was pretty sure that with the right applications of enchantments it would be entirely possible to make a motorcycle fly, but it would probably be against some wizarding law somewhere to do so.
At the cinema Uncle Vernon purchased tickets for Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves and then the lot of them loaded up with bags of popcorn, candy, and fizzy drinks from the snack bar. Even Harry was allowed a small bag of popcorn and coke since he agreed to use his own pocket money to buy it.
When they went to enter the theatre that their moving was showing in, Dudley and Piers rushed ahead so that they could claim a group of five seats in the exact center of the auditorium with Dudley claiming the center most. Meanwhile, Piers and Uncle Vernon sat to his right him, while Aunt Petunia and Harry sat to his left.
It is a pretty good movie, Harry thought, even if Aunt Petunia had looked ready to haul them all off to watch Kindergarten Cop instead when within the first five minutes there had been a bloody dismemberment followed shortly after by a man being set on fire. However, even she seemed to have her blood up by the time Little John's wife had volunteered to join in with fighting the sheriff's men.
"Blasted woman should have kept the dagger and returned it to the sheriff point first," she hissed under her breath as the sheriff began to drag Maid Marian off for the wedding ceremony. A scene which both Harry and Dudley were forced to watch through Aunt Petunia's fingers when she clapped her hands cross their eyes.
It was in all honest perhaps the most enjoyable time Harry had ever had with his relatives. He felt, afterward, that he should have known it was all too good to last.
After they finished up at the cinema the headed to Plucky Pennywhistle's Pizza Playhouse. It was a clown infested hellhole in Harry's opinion, but the food and the games were fun. While Dudley and Piers played racing games – each of them demonstrating a level of skill that left Harry praying that neither of them were ever allowed behind the wheel of a real car – Harry was busy earning tickets playing skee-ball.
He was collecting his latest ribbon of tickets when he noticed something – or rather someone – that was out of place amongst the crowd of harried parents and romping children. Off to one corner was a man standing on his own. And a rather odd-looking man at that, who was wearing a violet top hat and was staring directly at Harry.
The man, when he realized that Harry had caught sight of him, waved at him merrily. His face splitting into a wide grin.
Harry returned the wave awkwardly, but felt rather relieved when his Aunt Petunia appeared beside him.
"Harry do you know that man," she demanded, eyeing the stranger suspiciously. Harry shook his head and she seized him by the wrist and began dragging over to where Uncle Vernon was watching over Dudley and Piers.
"Vernon we're leaving," she informed her husband.
"What? Why?"
"Because there's a strange man standing in the corner watching the children a little too closely," she said, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.
Uncle Vernon spluttered for a moment, then seized both Dudley and Piers by the scruffs of their necks and helped Aunt Petunia herd the lot of them out to his car. Neither of the adults paying any attention to Dudley's wails about his evening being cut short.
Author's Note: I'm posting a link to a picture of Aster in uniform on my profile.