(A/N: Yes, I know this took forever. But! Contrary to usual circumstances, I actually have an excuse. College and scholarship applications, schoolwork, orchestra and dance… Well, at least this chapter (and the ones that are to follow) is longer than usual. I had immense writer's block for the longest time, but I hope to be back in business.
I've always seen the Dursleys as more obnoxious than dangerous, and among the Dursleys, I've always seen Petunia as the most sane.)
HARRY POTTER and the ART of WING CHUN
5
diagon alley
Petunia Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, was having a rather excellent day.
It began with news from Mrs. Peyton, who got it from Mrs. Hackett, who got it from Mrs. Daubney, who got it from Mrs. Winterbottom, who heard it in a cafe opposite the radio that was undergoing maintenance. Duddy-dums's school had gotten a grant—a rather sizable one, too—and that meant she and Vernon could save quite a healthy sum of quid. Rather excellent, or so Petunia Dursley reckoned.
Oh—then there was the wonderful fact that Potters' boy hadn't made a single ruckus and was obediently waiting in his cupboard.
Oh, yes, it was an excellent day.
Petunia chose to indulge in a measure of chocolate as celebration. Chocolate was very popular in the Dursley household, especially with Dudley. The only downside was that the Potter boy loved to steal Dudley's share. Why, it happened every bloody time Petunia tried to make chocolate! (Petunia never witnessed such an event personally, but her Duddy-dums would never lie to her.) So in the cupboard went Harry, and Petunia would have to whip up another batch. What an ungrateful whelp!
Ah, yes—that had been an item on her to-do list for some time. Figure out what exactly to do with the Potter boy. He was getting unbearable—honestly! Spending time in his cupboard no longer seemed to be apt punishment. When he was younger, she could hear him crying, which was a good sign; but now, whenever she let him out of the cupboard, he would grin. In fact, more often than not, if she didn't need him to leave his cupboard, he'd stay inside.
That was just outright defiant.
Yet as much as Petunia Dursley would love to slap the Potter boy silly, she knew better than to lay a single finger on him. One bruise from her or her husband, and then they would come, with their awful clothes and their awful accent and their awful words—just thinking about it made Petunia shiver down to the soles of her shoes. Dudley seemed to be the only exception to this rule; Petunia had briefly seen Dudley's gang playing rather rough with Harry, and they never got into any trouble with—with Lily's folk.
When times had gotten desperate, when the Potter boy had truly been beyond redemption, Petunia and Vernon had agreed to sic Dudley on him—just to help him come to his senses.
But Dudley had come back as a sobbing mess.
"Duddy-dums!" she'd screamed upon sight of his blotchy, bruised face. "What on earth...!"
"Harry's gotten weird!" her little popkin had blubbered. "He—he took on Gordon, AND Dennis, AND Malcom and Piers and—and ME."
"We must get you to the hospital immediately," Petunia had fretted, and sent Vernon to cart their young charge off to the local doctor.
When Petunia'd summoned the Potter boy, determined to force some sense into him, she'd been astounded to see a radical change in behavior. No longer was this the meek and mild boy she had seen for eight or nine years; this was a rebel with an iron will and a revolutionary spirit. Her direst threats had seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever.
"If you lay another finger on Dudley, boy, I'll be certain to leave you on the streets!" she'd hissed.
The Potter boy only had raised his eyebrows. "You really mean that?" he'd asked with a mocking air of excitement.
Petunia'd changed her line of attack. "If your parents only knew what you'd become," she'd said in stark disapproval, shaking her head with one long sigh. "Perhaps that is the reason why they died; at least they wouldn't have to deal with such a selfish brat."
In the past, the Potter boy would have been subdued, eyes brightening with unshed tears, eventually bowing his head and plodding toward his cupboard. But this was not that Potter boy. This was an alien and unfamiliar Potter boy, who'd examined her closely, eyebrows drawn in concentration, and then gave her a condescending smirk, and said:
"Stop lying to me, Petunia Dursley. I know what my parents thought of me, and I know that I'm not the selfish brat in the room."
She'd swung her hand to slap him. He'd blocked it without flinching.
"I will not take your abuse any longer," he'd said—coolly, levelly, like an adult. "As I am still technically a member of the household, I will do my part and help occasionally with the household chores. But if you choose to starve me or discipline me on just those conditions, I will not hesitate to take legal action. I am no longer your slave, Petunia Dursley, and I will not be treated as such." And he had left the room calmly and confidently.
If Petunia was truly, absolutely honest with herself, she would admit that she'd been the tiniest, teensiest bit impressed at how clever and how mature Harry—the Potter boy—was. Sometimes she found herself wishing that Dudley could be half as—but those were evil, despicable thoughts, and she wouldn't allow herself to have them any longer.
But—back to this morning. It was a fine morning, a very fine morning, and Petunia was certain that nothing would ruin it. Besides, she had an idea with what to do about Ha—the Potter boy. They'd just kick him out. For good. And if Lily's folk came knocking at their doorstep, she could merely say that he'd endangered the life of her beloved son. Well! why hadn't she thought of such a brilliant excuse before?
Yet when Petunia opened the cupboard door and found it completely empty of all signs of Harry, the only thing she felt was her throat fall to the pit of her stomach.
He couldn't have left. It wasn't possible. He was Harry Potter. He was timid, shy, a follower. He was The Boy Who Lived, invaluable to the wizarding community, and, oh, blimey, her family's heads were on the line—
She frantically stumbled to the kitchen and twirled the dial of the telephone, screeching: "Duddy! Duddy, have you seen Harry?!"
"Shut up, Mom!" Dudley screeched back. "I'm in the middle of a race!"
On his video games, again. Why couldn't he be more useful, like Ha—but oh, what a silly, wicked thought that was.
"Surrey Police," came a droll voice from over the phone. "Please state the nature of your predicament."
"I would like to report a kidnapping in Little Whinging," Petunia said shakily, feeling her hands wringing. Oh, what would the neighbors say!
The policeman paused. "A kidnapping?" he asked, his tone brightening at the prospect of something interesting happening in Surrey.
"Yes," Petunia said. "My—nephew, he's been—well, he's disappeared."
A pause on the line. "Did you check—"
"I assure you that I am not dull-witted," Petunia said sharply, feeling the infamous Evans temper welling up. "I would not be calling the police unless I was certain that this is a matter of utmost importance!"
"Name and address?" the policeman continued briskly.
Petunia gave it to him. When she hung up several minutes later, she immediately bolted all the doors and windows. If Lily's folk came looking for a fight, she'd give them one.
Then the phone rang.
She answered it apprehensively, one lanky hand gripping the handle so tight that her knuckles blanched white. "Hello?"
"Hello. Is this the Dursley residence?"
"Yes," Petunia said tightly. "Who is this?"
"This is Smeltings Academy."
Petunia instantly relaxed. It wasn't Lily's folk.
This could still be a good day.
"Thank you for applying for the Smeltings Academy Scholarship. We regret to inform you that your son, Mr. Dudley Dursley, is not eligible at this time…"
It was a horrible day.
::-::
Meanwhile, far away from the Dursleys—far away from Muggles—Harry Potter was strolling down the battered cobblestone of Diagon Alley, wide, green eyes drinking up the fantastical sights and sounds of his first encounter with the Wizarding World.
"This has been under my nose this entire time, and I didn't even know?" he mumbled, tugging on Wu Sifu's sleeve like a child at a candy store.
Wu Sifu smiled. "Quite a sight, isn't it?" he said.
"Yes," Harry said. "Wish I'd known about all this earlier."
Wu Sifu's face darkened. "I'm sorry, Harry. It took a bit of… manoeuvring to extract you from the Dursley household."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Manoeuvring?" he repeated.
"Well, I didn't strictly speaking follow the Muggle law," Wu Sifu said. At Harry's questioning glance—"We call the nonwizarding folk Muggles."
"Oh, I wasn't curious about that," Harry said. "I was wondering how you managed to get me if you weren't using, er, the law."
"I did use the law," Wu Sifu said wisely. "It just so happened to be the Wizarding Law."
Harry's mouth froze in the shape of a perfect 'o.' "So, where exactly does that leave me?"
"For all the Muggles are concerned, Petunia and Vernon are still your legal guardians," he said. "However, in the Wizarding World, they no longer have any power over your assets or your legal functions."
"Meaning?"
"You're free," Wu Sifu said, mockingly cross.
"Oh. You could've just said that," Harry teased.
"Haha, yes. Now choose a store."
Harry pointed to the bookstore, unable to forget that lengthy tomes had been his only companions during his numerous banishments into the cupboard. He felt something in his chest give a painful twang as he realized he'd never said goodbye to Hermione Granger, more of a bookworm than himself.
"Uncle Wu?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"How's Hermione doing?"
Wu Sifu smiled. "Why, I'd imagine you'll be seeing her quite soon," he said mysteriously, ruffling Harry's hair.
Harry grinned. "Really?"
"Duty first, son," Wu Sifu teased. "Let's get your shopping done." He pointed at a looming snowy-white building. "To the bank!"
::-::
Gringotts Bank was intimidating to many wizards, as it was run by goblins—but to Harry, it was nothing but fascinating. The raw efficiency with which the goblins handled their workspaces entranced him. Although he noticed that many of them eyed their wizarding clients with clear disrespect, they gave nods of acknowledgment in Wu Sifu's direction as they passed by. When he pointed this out to Wu Sifu, the explanation was vague.
"Give courtesy and respect to whom it is due, and you shall go a long way," he said.
From the corner of his eye, Harry noted the condescending manner with which a wizard was treating a goblin. Horrified, he watched as the wizard kicked angrily at his teller, yelling something that sounded very crude.
"You can't mean—wizards usually treat goblins like that?" he whispered.
"Goblins are not seen as anything more than slaves in the wizarding world," Wu Sifu said, his face grave.
"Why don't they do anything about it?" Harry demanded.
"The wizards decide who keeps legal power," Wu Sifu said. "Why would they ever give it to those other than themselves?"
"But you can help, can't you, Uncle Wu?" Harry pleaded as the wizard gave the goblin another vicious blow. "We can defend them!"
Wu Sifu stared at the scene before him, his expression unreadable, calm aura turning stormy. "Can we?" he murmured, and continued on to an available teller.
Harry glanced back, watching the wizard storm out of Gringotts, cursing up a storm. "Why don't the goblins just refuse him service?" he said.
"They don't have the power to do so," Wu Sifu said. "He might, however, close his account and move to a wizard-operated bank. They're less secure, but—well, operated by wizards."
"This is barmy," Harry said. "It's just downright wrong."
"It is," Wu Sifu said. "But Harry, if anyone were to be able to fix it, it would be you."
Harry almost asked him what he meant by that, but they'd just reached a teller, and Wu Sifu was deep in conversation with the goblin. He wasn't speaking the Queen's English, but a series of guttural noises that sounded like—
"You speak Goblin, Uncle Wu?"
"I picked up a little, Harry," Wu Sifu said, and continued speaking, retrieving a key from his robes and handing it to the goblin. The goblin growled and snarled for a bit, Wu Sifu growled and snarled back, and in a minute the teller was growling and snarling at a goblin across the marble hall, who came forth, growling and snarling.
"Um—excuse me a bit," Harry said, "but—did my parents have a bank account?"
The teller examined him, then growled and snarled at Wu Sifu, who growled and snarled back. "They do," the teller said.
"I'd like to see it," Harry said. "If—if that's alright, of course."
"You needn't, Harry," Wu Sifu said. "I am your guardian. Don't feel compelled to pay for yourself."
"Well, I'll consider it as spending money, then," Harry said.
Wu Sifu eyed him with mock suspicion before fetching another key from his robes. "The Potters' Vault, if you please," he said.
::-::
A few dizzying minutes later, Wu Sifu and Harry were out of Gringotts, wallets laden with galleons. Harry instantly headed toward Flourish and Blotts Bookseller.
"You've become quite the little bookworm, haven't you?" Wu Sifu teased.
"Well, it beats doing nothing in my cupboard," Harry said, selecting a tome on Germanic Occlumency techniques, designed to withstand even the most brutal Legilimency assaults. He thumbed through the pages, and, satisfied with his preview, handed the book to Wu Sifu for approval.
"I still can't believe that can't be considered child abuse," Wu Sifu muttered, tossing the book into their levitating basket without a second glance. "Keeping children in cupboards? Honestly."
Harry grinned. That sounded just like Hermione Granger. He handed Wu Sifu a book on jujutsu and a book on general kung fu. This time, Wu Sifu actually looked through the books before dropping them in the basket.
"I should teach you Legilimancy," he huffed. "Perhaps you could teach that aunt and uncle of yours a few lessons."
Harry paused. "Um… Uncle Wu?"
Wu Sifu stared. "You don't mean to say—"
"It was more of an accident than anything," Harry said. "I mean, Petunia was going on about how my parents would be disappointed in me, so I tried to see if it was the truth, and suddenly I was seeing things—"
"Harry!" Wu Sifu said.
"I mean, I only saw them through the mind of a baby, so—but I could see that they really loved me—but—I'm sorry—"
"Do you realize how much talent that takes?" Wu Sifu interrupted brightly. "Learning Legilimancy without a teacher? James and Lily would be thrilled!"
"You—know my parents?" Harry said.
Wu Sifu suddenly quieted, his expression passive. "It's quite a story," he mumbled. "Perhaps later."
Harry wanted nothing more than to learn about his parents, but he obediently turned back to the shelves and picked out a book titled Urawaza: 101 Unorthodox But Effective Spells from Japan. "Uncle Wu," he said, "can you recommend any good spellbooks?"
"Certainly," Wu Sifu said. "Let's see—Well, you've got The Standard Book of Spells on your textbook list, but that is probably the driest series I've ever had the misfortune of reading—oh, here we are. The Advanced Spellbook, Platinum Edition. This was my favorite book during fourth year; you needn't feel inclined to read it yet. Fifty Ways to Make Them Pay Without Money. Use this on Dudley or Voldemort, I don't care which. Wand Theory by Sensei Shimizu. A bit dry, but foundation is very im—"
"Who's Voldemort?" Harry asked, quite loudly. The browsing wizarding family next to him immediately backed away, exchanging horrified glances. Harry lowered his voice. "Who's Voldemort?"
"Oh, just a ruddy old codger," Wu Sifu said, glancing at Harry's textbook list with distaste before tossing in all the required books. Then he paused. "You don't know who Voldemort is?"
"Well, if I did, I wouldn't ask."
"True, but—your aunt and uncle didn't—oh, pardon. It's the Dursleys we're talking about." He glanced around the bookstore, noticing how their aisle was suspiciously vacant. "I'll have to tell you later. Along with the story about your parents."
Harry nodded reluctantly. He purchased a book on The Arte of Nonverbal Magic before they left the shop.
::-::
Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was next. Wu Sifu excused himself to visit the Owl Emporium, saying he needed to 'catch up with the shopkeeper,' but Harry had the feeling that Wu might actually be getting him a present. He decided not to make a fuss about it either way and let Madame Malkin lead him to a footstool to be fitted.
On the stool next to him stood a boy his age, round-faced, with black hair rumpled very strangely on his head, as if someone had tried to tame it with a bit too much gel and failed.
"Hello," Harry said, trying to sound as friendly as possible.
The boy glanced around, then started. "Oh! Sorry. Are you—talking to me?"
"Well, erm, yes." Harry decided not to point out that there was no one else in the shop—except for the fitting witches, of course. "Lovely day, isn't it?"
"I—s'pose." The boy shuffled his feet. "How do you do?"
"I'm alright. How 'bout you?"
"A bit itchy. Gran paid for some fancy robes, so it's taking awhile."
"Am I supposed to get fancy robes?" Harry asked.
"Why—I don't reckon so. It's just Gran being Gran. Say, I'm Neville Longbottom. What's your name?"
"Harry Potter," Harry said. "I'd shake your hand, but—well, I'm in a bit of a fix."
"Oh, you needn't worry—Half a mo'! Your name is Harry Potter?"
"Well, yes."
"Are you Harry Potter Harry Potter?"
Harry glanced at Madame Malkin, who gave no reaction and continued pinning his robes. "Um, yes, that's my name?"
"Well—never mind then," Neville said abashedly. "I ought to know better than to pry."
"No, it's alright," Harry said. "I just don't know what you mean."
Neville shuffled. "The—the Boy Who Lived," he said. "The one who vanquished You-Know-Who."
Harry was about to ask who? when Madame Malkin suddenly patted him on the shoulder, saying, "That's you done, my dear," and hustled him away to the front counter where he paid for his newly sewn robes with money Wu Sifu had given him.
Feeling quite sorry for Neville, Harry left Madame Malkin's and stopped by various other shops to purchase his other school supplies. He met Wu Sifu at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, whereupon he saw a very familiar face.
"Hermione!" he cried, grinning so widely he thought his head might split open.
Hermione Granger launched herself into his arms, squeezing him with a strength that betrayed her size. "Harry!" she said. "Ohh, Harry, it's been so long! Have you been eating enough? You look positively emaciated!"
Harry decided not to ask what 'emaciated' meant and instead patted the top of her head comfortingly. "I'm all right," he said. "Doing much better, actually, now that Petunia and Vernon don't badger me any more."
"I do wish we could've acted sooner," Hermione said sorrowfully. "But—fancy this! We're both magic folk, aren't we?"
"Reckon so," Harry said. "When'd you get your letter?"
"Just two days ago or so," Hermione said. "I've started learning the course books by heart, but isn't there ever so much to learn, I don't know if I'll be ready in time! You do have your texts, don't you?"
Harry dumped him bag ungracefully on the parlour table. "Right here. But I haven't the faintest what most of them are talking about."
"Oh, you do know that you're in the history book, don't you?" Hermione chattered excitedly. "You're famous, Harry! There was this awful man—the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time—named Voldemort, and no one could even come close to defeating him, but you did, as a little baby."
"Hang on. What did you say?" Harry said. Although the question was directed to Hermione, his head whipped around to stare at Wu Sifu.
Wu Sifu shot a glare at Hermione, mouthing a not-very-inconspicuous I was trying to ease the lad in.
Whatever for? Hermione mouthed back. Isn't it better that he learns everything at once?
If you want him to faint in shock, certainly.
Harry doesn't faint. He punches. Besides, I handled it quite fine.
You screamed. And damaged my rather fine eardrums in the process, I might add.
"You do know that I can understand everything you're saying," Harry said.
Wu Sifu and Hermione promptly stopped, shooting mocking glares at each other. Then Wu Sifu placed his spoon down, stared awkwardly at his half-completed ice cream, and began to unwind a long, long tale before Harry Potter starting many, many years ago with a boy named James and a girl named Lily.
(Finally approaching the part that's actually interesting.)
Q: Why didn't Wu Sifu defend the goblin? He's got superspecialawesome powers!
A: Just think for one second of the possible repercussions. Is it better to benefit one goblin, or risk the existence of his whole race?
Q: How did Wu Sifu get the key to the Potters' vault?
A: Probably how Hagrid got it. From Dumbledore?
Q: Why didn't Harry run into Draco Malfoy?
A: Harry went to Flourish and Blotts before he went to Madame Malkin's, thus avoiding Draco Malfoy.
Q: No Hagrid?
A: My first draft was with Hagrid as Harry's guide, like the canon plot in the books. However, no matter how many ways I tried it, I felt that having Wu Sifu ditch Harry during his first excursion into the Wizarding World just felt too out-of-character.
A final note: Wu Sifu does not start with Tom Riddle's childhood because he doesn't actually know about Tom Riddle's childhood. That information is generally exclusive to Dumbledore.
The story's beginning to pick up the pace now that the insanely long exposition is finally drawing to a close. I hope to be in Hogwarts by the next chapter.)