Chapter 22
The Monday following Harry's weekend at Mrs. Malfoy's house, a phone call came for him during dinner. They were eating steak (because uncle Vernon did not like fish) with roasted potatoes (because Dudley did not like vegetables). But steak was expensive, too expensive to waste on Harry. And aunt Petunia was not fond of meat. So she and her nephew feasted on beans instead. Petunia didn't eat very much anyway, and Harry didn't complain as long as his belly was filled to the brim. At least he had roasted potatoes. Beans weren't so bad either.
The sing-song of the phone was heard from the living room, and the housewife dutifully stood up to respond. She soon returned to the table with the instruction to Harry to go answer the phone.
Harry was puzzled and intrigued. He had never in his life received a phone call from anyone. Not at home, and not at the Durlseys. He was seven! Who could wish to call him? His friends simply waited until they saw him at school, and there was no one else he could think of.
He hoped to find a clue in Petunia's expression as he hopped from his chair, careful not to make a noise. There was nothing however. Since she had come back, she had become much calmer about anything that she would have loudly blamed him for in the past. It wasn't like she could blame him any more than she had done. She had said his very presence was the reason she had snapped and had strayed from marital loyalty.
There was only one way to know who it was, and it was to answer that phone, which the raven soon did.
"Hello?" He said uncertainly. It was the way he'd seen people answer calls, but he had never tried it himself.
"Harry!" A female voice beamed into his ear. "I'm so glad to hear your voice."
"Rebecca?"
"Yes, it's me. I'm not calling at a bad time I hope?"
"No, it's fine." Harry assured her. Having dinner wasn't one of his favourite activities. He didn't mind the interruption, if it meant less time in the company of his relatives.
"Good, good." She was quiet for a while and Harry wondered whether he was supposed to say something. But then she began to speak again. "Are you able to speak freely, Harry?"
"What do you mean?" He frowned.
"To tell you the truth, I would much rather have this conversation in person, but I am about 200 miles away and unable to get away at the moment…" she apologised, "but I want to make sure that your aunt, uncle and cousin cannot hear our conversation. I want you to be able to speak to me honestly. Are they in the room with you?"
"No, they're in the dining room." He said as he moved into the corner of the living room, as far away as possible from the door linking to the dining room and kitchen, just to be sure. He was getting more intrigued by the second.
"Tell me first, how are you? Did you make many friends? And how is school? Do you like it there?"
Harry informed her about his literature classes, his teacher and Miss Snape, about Ron and Hermione. However, he did not utter a word about Draco.
"I'm glad to hear it." Rebecca sounded genuinely pleased. A second silence came, as if she were thinking how to begin something she'd rehearsed beforehand. "The reason I'm calling is that I was contacted by a person…about you, Harry. That person wishes to stay anonymous, and expressed some…concern. Is there a cause for concern, Harry?"
"I don't understand. Who? Who called?" The raven had the uncomfortable feeling that he had been watched without his knowledge. That everything he did, good or bad, would be recorded and reported.
"I can't tell you, Harry, I'm sorry. But it seems to be someone you came in contact with. My question is if this person was mistaken. I will come and check on you when my schedule clears up, but in case there is something you want to tell me, I need to know immediately so that I can help."
Harry began thinking very quickly. An alarm had gone off when she'd said she would come and visit. Very soon it became clear to him that that would be a bad thing. If she came, there was a chance of her judging that he should be moved away from the Durlseys. But he could never allow that to happen.
Everything and everyone he cared for was here. It had taken time and effort to build a somewhat comfortable world around him. But now he had the Weasleys, the Malfoys, Hagrid, Hedwig and Hermione, the literature classes, the library… He could not give all that up. Moving again now would mean losing everything again. There was no way he could start all over. He would crumble. And what if the people he stayed with were even worse? He would not even have the tiny comfort that the idea of Petunia being his mother's sister gave him.
It was for exactly the same reason that he answered: "It's fine. You don't need to come all the way. As I said, I'm doing well. It's…it's a little difficult…adapting…but I manage, and my aunt and uncle are nice." He lied smoothly, without even choking on the word 'nice'. In his mind, he imagined he was talking about his parents, and the warm feeling that flooded through him infused his voice with convincing love. "I like them. And I like playing with my cousin."
It took an effort to maintain the focus on his parent's faces and voices, to trick his heart into thinking he was discussing his loved ones, but he managed. By the end of the conversation, Rebecca was relieved and satisfied that things were going better than she'd expected, and she even agreed that it was unnecessary for her to leave more important cases waiting just to come and check what she already knew. Harry was safe. He would not be leaving his friends if he could help it.
The raven did realise that he had to be more careful. The rumours, and now this phone call were proof of that. Information was circulating about him and his parents. It passed between people he didn't know, people he had never seen in his life. He hated the feeling.
As he though it over in his bed that night, he came to the conclusion he would have to lie more, and more convincingly. He had to get better at it. He had to behave perfectly, and do everything within his power to make everyone forget any suspicion. He would be perfect and irreproachable, so that no one would have a reason to pay more attention to him than was welcome.
In the meantime, the raven had a new occupation. The book of poems from the library lay quite forgotten, all his attention claimed by the seemingly indecipherable novel, which was now his.
The feeling of being the actual owner of Anna Karenina, in original Russian, gave him a thrill he could not put into words; only his own invented words. A string of sounds came to his mind whenever he flipped open the cover, sounds that surfaced effortlessly, like a cork floating to the surface of a pond. How easy it was to express his feelings this way. But he knew the words would not be understood by others.
In that way, his own language was quite useless. The meanings he connected to the sounds, incredibly detailed and only applying to a particular thought or feeling within his mind, could not be picked up on by anyone outside his mind.
He had only ever spoken such things to Draco, and he wondered what exactly the grey-eyed one made of it. Those eyes had seemed to understand…at times…but it was vague…or hidden. Vague and hidden like the strange symbols that filled the pages of Tolstoy's work. Harry linked the present and the one who gave it to him in this way.
I'm really sorry, guys, for posting such a short chapter.
I'm in a bad place at the moment. I tried writing several times but couldn't put anything down. This is what I had already written before.
I hope I can get my mind together soon and continue this story.
Sorry again.
