Chapter 28 – Christmas at Number Four
Snape posted the list for students who were staying at the castle over Christmas not long after Harry showed his friends the Chamber of Secrets.
Harry didn't sign it. It was OWL year, which was usually one of the times students who usually went home stayed over Christmas, but with Umbridge, the Inquisition, and Dumbledore's treason charge… well, the castle didn't seem quite as appetising as a Christmas at home.
Even a Christmas with Aunt Marge, pretending to be a muggle.
He could get work done on a load of his subjects, anyway, even if the more practical sorts of practise would have to wait until after Christmas when he got back to the castle. There would be no time for Alchemy, and practical Potions practise was out because of Marge's tendency to snoop – not to mention that many OWL potions required a wand in parts – but he could get rather a lot of Arithmancy or Ancient Runes in.
And the latter outside of his bedroom, as they did Latin and other dead languages in muggle schools. Perhaps not through the medium of runic letters, but it was close enough Harry didn't think it mattered. And Marge hadn't been to school in a very long time, so Harry hardly thought she would know enough to raise any concerns.
"Not staying this year?" asked Daphne of Harry one evening in the Common Room – a rare one when all of Harry's Slytherin friends were together and free from too much work. Despite the Inquisition's rules on group fraternisation, even the Inquisitorial Squad seemed to be taking a slightly more relaxed approach ahead of Christmas.
In the Common Rooms, at least. And Harry and his friends had sat in such a way that it could be argued – probably not successfully, but reasonably – that they were in fact sat in a group of three and a separate pair.
"Definitely not," Harry said. "I know it's OWL year, but this year… no. Not with the Inquisition the way it is. I haven't gone home in two years though, so it'll be nice to have Christmas there again anyway. A bit overdue, I think."
In first year Harry had been too worried about bringing a murderous and deranged Sirius Black to the family's door – however absurd that sounded now – and with the Yule Ball didn't want to go back during his second year. Third year… well, Umbridge had made it easy for him, OWLs or no OWLs. Marge or no Marge.
"That's fair enough," Daphne said. "And it is nice to see family at Christmas. Honestly, this year I'd have considered staying—people do for OWL revision, don't they? And I've got an awful lot to do—but…"
"There is exactly no chance at all I'd stay for Christmas this year," Blaise said. "Fuck the OWLs—I want a break from all this… ugh," he said, waving a hand absently. "I'm looking forward to going home."
"Going to Italy again this year?" asked Tracey.
"Well, of course," Blaise said. "We go every year to see my grandfather. I'm not too bothered about that part—some of my cousins have turned into right prats. But New Year's at home."
"Ooh, very nice," Tracey said. "It's almost like you get two holidays!"
"I suppose," Blaise said.
"Daph's coming to visit me for New Year's Eve," Millicent said. "Aren't you, Daph?"
"Yes!" Daphne said. "It's going to be lovely. The party at your grandparents' house?"
"Yeah," said Millicent, although to Harry she didn't sound overly enthused by the prospect. "My mum's parents," she added for the rest of the group, and then Harry understood. Millicent's mum's parents were the old-fashioned kind of purebloods who didn't totally approve of their daughter's muggleborn husband. Not to quite the extent that families like the Malfoys would have, but enough that Millicent had picked up on it.
Not too dissimilar from Marge's views on 'kept women' that she liked to bring up around Harry and Dudley, Harry supposed.
Talk turned to plans over Christmas and the New Year after that, and eventually came around to the train journey home.
"Hopefully the dining carriage will be open this time," Daphne said. "If it is, shall we have lunch together on the train? You know, to make up for missing out on the way here?"
"D'you reckon it'll even be open?" Harry asked. "Has it even got the space to open now there's so many people here?"
"I don't see why not," Daphne said. "The train doesn't have a fixed size—there's enough space. I suppose it's just a problem of capacity… It's quite a lot for the carriage elves to be doing."
"I think they only closed it on the way in because the train went faster," Tracey offered, "so on the way home for Christmas it will probably be open. If it is we should all get lunch together. The food is meant to be nice!"
"I'd hope it's nice," Blaise said. "It's the same elves cooking it as at the castle."
"It's ages until Christmas, anyway," Millicent said, "so we can just decide later."
Harry thought that was fair enough. It was still a few weeks until the Christmas holidays were set to begin, after all.
But the few weeks left of term rapidly passed them by, filled as they were with lessons and clubs and the other, less official and wholly unallowed, extracurricular activities being done by Harry and his friends. Even occlumency training with Snape – for Harry. Harry suffered through another two sessions of that, and soon enough, the Christmas holidays had come. The usual end-of-term chaos in the dorms followed, as everyone scrambled to collect the jumbled and scattered bits and pieces that came with a life lived at school to pack away and bring them home.
Harry wasn't overly concerned with that, though. A lot of his things could just be left at school – his robes, for one thing, and his potions set – as they wouldn't and couldn't see any use over Christmas. So he sat in his dormitory chatting with Blaise and the other boys as they packed away their things.
John FitzRoy in particular was having a time of it.
"I don't understand why we have to do all this ourselves," FitzRoy complained as he unpacked his trunk for the sixth time. "There are dozens of house-elves in the castle; why can't they pack for us? We didn't have to do this at Beauxbatons."
"It's not really their job to pack your trunk for you," Charlie Miller said to him as he folded up his robes. "And, to be honest John, if you can't figure out how to pack a bloody school trunk… that's a you problem."
"Wait a minute," Harry said, interrupting. "The elves at Beauxbatons pack your stuff for you? That seems a bit…" Harry shrugged. It seemed a little excessive, but Harry supposed wizards with house elves did generally allow – and expect – them to do more or less everything for them.
Ernie's elf had packed Harry's bags during that summer, after all.
"Yes, of course," said FitzRoy. "That's what elves are for."
"I read in that book," Capability Plumm said, "that Helga Hufflepuff wrote in the school charter that students have to pack their own bags. She wanted to make sure students didn't become overly reliant on elf magic. Something about getting a proper work ethic, you know."
"I think all it does is teach the house elves to be lazy, frankly," said FitzRoy. "And there really isn't any need for me to learn how to pack—my family has more than enough house elves to see to anything like that."
"You're just sour because you haven't figured out how to fold your clothes," Charlie said.
"Do none of you know the Packing Charm?" asked Plumm. Harry glanced over at him, waiting for an explanation. He'd packed all of his clothes the old-fashioned muggle way and would have killed for a charm that did it instead.
"What Packing Charm?" asked Charlie.
"There's a packing charm?" said FitzRoy. "Excellent—do it for me and we can be done with this."
"You can piss off if you think I'm doing it for you," said Plumm. "I'm not your house elf. But I will show you how it works. Watch." He pointed to the clothes, books, and other accoutrements he'd gathered and placed on his bed. "You just sort of flick your wand like this and say, 'pack'!"
Plumm's belongings, all carefully placed onto his bed in neat little piles, shot into his trunk. They arranged and rearranged themselves several times, popping in and out of the trunk, so that everything fit in properly. When he was satisfied, Plumm looked back over to the other boys.
"See? Easy."
"That's a nifty little charm," Charlie said. "Where'd you learn that?"
"School," Plumm said. "Not this one, obviously—since none of you seem to know it. We did it in Charms back at Wandwright's. Part of the household charms unit, you know."
"Hmm," said FitzRoy. He looked over his things, strewn about his bed and general area as they were. "And you really just… flick and say 'pack'?"
"Really," said Plumm. "You just saw."
FitzRoy tried it out. Flicked his wand, said the incantation, and his things… flopped. Flopped lazily towards his trunk and tried to fit themselves in haphazardly, managing something only slightly better than FitzRoy's previous attempts without the charm.
FitzRoy looked towards Plumm, frowning, brow furrowed.
"You just didn't do the charm very well," Plumm said. "Try again and see what happens. It definitely works, though—you just saw me do it. I'm all packed and ready to go, now. So… see you after Christmas, lads; have a good one. I'm off to say my goodbyes." He closed up his trunk and left the dormitory, leaving Harry behind with Charlie, FitzRoy, and Blaise.
"That was a neat little trick," Blaise said. "I never even knew that charm existed. It's not something my mum would have ever used. I'll have to practise with it… Makes this trunk packing thing so much easier."
"Me too," said Charlie.
"I'll have to give it a go too," Harry said. It certainly looked like it could save a lot of time wrangling robes and shoving books into free spaces.
Blaise didn't take too long to pack his things after that, and most of that time was spent looking for stray items he had yet to find. Once Blaise was done, Harry went with him to go find the girls and their friends from Hufflepuff before getting on the train.
As luck would have it, Harry found both the Slytherin girls and the three Hufflepuffs in the Entrance Hall waiting for the carriages to arrive.
"Cutting it rather fine," observed Justin as Harry and Blaise arrived.
"Last-minute packing," Blaise said. "Did you know there was a packing charm? Like, a spell you can do that packs your trunk for you? I didn't. Capability Plumm just showed it to us."
"Is there really?" Ernie said. "I never knew that. God, that would've saved me so much time…"
Tracey giggled.
"You really didn't know about the Packing Charm?" she said.
"To be fair," said Daphne, "I only know it because you taught us at the end of first year. At home the house elves do it for me."
"How do you do it?" asked Susan. "I've never heard of it, either."
Tracey pulled open her trunk and demonstrated, much to the amazement of the others, who'd seemingly never considered that wizards could achieve the same feats as their house elf servants in the realm of packing magic.
"That's amazing," Ernie said. "Just amazing. And it just… packs everything nicely, all for you? Wow."
"You do need to practise a bit," Tracey said, "but… yes!"
"Well, it's always nice to learn something new," Daphne said, "but packing is boring. I was going to ask you four if you wanted to join us in the dining carriage on the train. So, do you? I thought it would be nice if we all ate together."
The three Hufflepuffs looked at each other and then nodded.
"That sounds lovely," said Susan. "I just hope they've got a table big enough for us all!"
Lunch plans all sorted, and with the carriages set to arrive at any minute, they sorted themselves into smaller groups for the carriage ride to the train, and in no time at all, the Christmas holiday had begun.
As it happened, the dining carriage was open for the trip back to London, and Daphne managed to secure the group a large enough table. Of course, the prefects in the group had patrols to cover, but a quick word to Diggory about their desire for lunch was enough to schedule something so that they could eat together.
Harry found the food nice enough. Better than the sweets the trolley witch came around with, if he was being really honest, although not nearly as fun. Still, it was nice to have eaten in the dining carriage at least once after having heard of it so many times, and especially after missing the opportunity on the journey in after the summer.
At King's Cross Station everyone went their separate ways. Tracey alone accompanied Harry across the barrier between Platform 9¾, as everyone else was going via the Floo or Apparition points inside the station. Tracey's younger brother came with them.
Soon after they crossed the barrier Harry saw his aunt and uncle, along with Dudley.
"There's my aunt and uncle," Harry said. "See you after New Year's. Have a good Christmas!"
"Oh, we will!" Tracey said. "I'll send you a letter on Boxing Day! And you'll get a present on Christmas anyway." She paused. "There's Mam and Dad! Did I tell you Dad said he wanted to drive all the way here and back? To show Ffransis how cars work? It takes hours and hours though so I'm not sure Mam would have let him… we'll have to see, I suppose! Anyway, see you after Christmas!" said Tracey.
She drew Harry into a quick hug and then ran off towards her parents.
Harry pushed the trolley and his trunk – as well as the carry case containing his Firebolt – towards his aunt and uncle.
"Happy Christmas!" Harry said as he approached. Dudley and Vernon were both wearing Christmas jumpers – his aunt's doing, Harry assumed.
"Vernon, help Harry with his things," Petunia said. "Harry, it's lovely to have you home! First time since you left for school. Oh, but it will be nice to have the whole family together again."
"Big strapping lad like that doesn't need any help with his things," Vernon said, but moved to take the trunk anyway.
Harry handed the trolley over to Vernon, although he didn't really need help, as he'd charmed his trunk featherlight.
"Bloody hell, boy! Did you leave all your things at school? This feels empty!" said Vernon.
"It's, er, charmed featherlight," Harry said. "Easier to carry."
Vernon grunted.
"Why'd you come home this year anyway? Thought you'd want to stay up at that castle of yours," Dudley asked as they walked through the station towards the car park.
"Not pleased to have me here, then?"
"I didn't mean it like that," Dudley said. "Was only asking."
Harry shrugged.
"I've not been home in a few years. Felt like the right time."
"Well, we're all thrilled to have you back with us, Harry," said Petunia. "And with a little bit of luck we'll have enough time to do a spot of last-minute Christmas shopping for you—you didn't send a list back this year. I'm sure it just slipped your mind. Well, we'll have to make do, won't we?"
Shopping was near enough at the bottom of the list of things Harry wanted to do with his Christmas break. But presents were important to his aunt, so he'd have put up with it. He held back a sigh.
"But we can sort that tomorrow," Petunia continued. "We've got to get back tonight because Marge will be here not long after we get back—and I've still got to finish cooking."
Marge. The one problem with going home for Christmas. Well, Marge and the fact that he couldn't do magic at home. And Marge's dogs, although Harry supposed that was just Marge again. At least she left most of them behind.
"You aren't wearing your glasses," said Petunia. "Did they break? If they did I'm sure we can get an emergency appointment at the optician's—I'll phone first thing tomorrow. Or did you leave them on the train—should we go back and look?"
"Er—no," Harry said. "I'll explain once we're back in the car." Too many muggles about to go around talking about magical rituals and alchemical transformations.
The trip back to the car went by without any further unpleasant news. A small mercy, at least. Once everyone was settled inside, Vernon set off for Little Whinging.
"So that headmaster of yours," Vernon said after a lull in conversation, "got sacked for treason. That's what they said in the paper. Know anything about that?"
Ah. Harry had forgotten that his uncle – somewhat religiously – kept up with wizarding events through Harry's Daily Prophet subscription.
"Had an affair with some sort of evil wizard as well, didn't he? That's what that Skeeter woman said, anyway," continued Vernon. "No wonder he kept that secret."
"I don't know if I'd call it an affair," Harry began, then shook his head. "Er—I mean—whatever was going on, it doesn't matter. Grindelwald was the wizard Dumbledore defeated, so whatever they were doing, it's not what they're—oh, none of that matters." Harry shrugged. "Skeeter says all sorts of things. But Dumbledore's not done anything. There are people at the Ministry trying to discredit him, that's all, so people are spreading rumours and saying all sorts."
"Seems like it's worked, then, if he's had to go into hiding," Vernon said. "That's what—"
"Skeeter said in the paper, yeah," Harry said, interrupting. "But you remember that Skeeter's… Skeeter. She likes a bit of controversy—remember when she was writing all those articles about me? It's just like that. But worse because Dumbledore is a really big deal."
"Is it… is it safe for you at school?" asked Petunia.
That was a difficult question to answer. Aunt Petunia wanted the truth, which was that Voldemort and his people had infiltrated the castle; or that the Ministry was going nuts about anyone with even a speck of independent authority. The news that he'd found a secret underground chamber in the school along with its giant man-eating snake guardian probably wouldn't go over very well either, even if the basilisk did seem quite keen to defend him.
So Harry would have to lie.
"I'm safe, Aunt Petunia," Harry said. "What's going on with Dumbledore doesn't have anything to do with me—it's all political stuff. I'm just at school. And it's my OWL year, so I'm not getting involved in anything silly, don't worry about that."
"Why does everyone care about a bloody headmaster anyway?" asked Dudley, looking up from his Game Boy. "He's just a teacher."
"He's, um," Harry said, trying to think of a way to explain it to Dudley. "Before he was a teacher, he was like, a war hero. Defeated a Dark wizard. Saved the world. That sort of thing. So… everyone knows who he is. They wanted to make him Minister for Magic, but he always said no…" Harry shrugged. "He's kind of like the wizard Winston Churchill, I suppose. Defeated wizard Hitler in our version of the World War."
Dudley grunted and went back to playing his game.
"And the other thing I was wondering," Vernon said after a few moments. "Why is it that—"
"And how is your preparation for OWLs going, Harry?" interrupted Petunia. "These are very important exams, aren't they? Sort of like wizard GCSEs?"
"Er—yeah, that's right," Harry said. "We have to pass them to be allowed to go on to NEWTs." He paused, unsure how much detail to go into. Even with his muggle subjects his aunt had never required him to go in depth.
"I'm doing okay, I think. I've already done an Alchemy exam—it was a proper practical exam where I had to… er, I had to design and then do an alchemical ritual to improve my eyesight. It's why I'm not wearing my glasses—I don't need them anymore." He left out that his eyes were now whole orders of magnitude better than the average muggle's – or wizard's. Or that he saw colours differently, saw further, could pick out fine details… "It was actually quite hard—one of the other blokes in the class burned his eyes out with his go at it. Now he's blind."
Silence. Clearly, neither his aunt nor his uncle had a response prepared for that one.
"Seems a bit extreme for GCSE coursework," Vernon said eventually. "Honestly, I'll never understand your lot. Just when you think you've got it you learn something else and…" He sighed.
"They managed to give him new eyes," Harry said. "Not real ones—magical ones. But he can see out of them, so it's not that bad really… and they did tell him not to try his Salve out—he just didn't listen. So I don't think I'll burn my eyes out or, er, turn my brain to mush or whatever. So that's alright, isn't it?"
The noise made by his aunt seemed to suggest it was quite far from alright, but Harry wasn't overly bothered. It was perfectly safe so long as he followed instructions and kept up with his alchemical theory. Petunia changed the subject after that, and the rest of the car journey was spent talking about all the usual sorts of mundane and boring things his aunt liked to talk about. By the time they reached the house, Harry was almost ready for Marge to arrive, just because at least then he wouldn't have to hear about Yvonne's trip to Marbella or Mrs Jones's gaudy new car.
"I'll just go unpack my things," Harry said as he carried his trunk and Firebolt case into the house. Dudley had shot off already without so much as a goodbye – although not into the house. To one of his mates' houses, Harry assumed. Or wherever it was Dudley got off to. Smashing up parks or some such thing, if he was up to the same sorts of things he'd been up to in the summer. "Check on Agrippa—he must be back by now."
Vernon grunted.
"Of course, Harry—and don't fill up on sweets! Dinner won't be long!" Petunia called after Harry as he carried his trunk upstairs.
"I won't, Aunt Petunia!" Harry shouted back. He didn't even have any sweets.
Well, except for some of the ones he'd brought back for Christmas. Chocolates mostly, although a few muggle-friendly sweets were packed in his trunk as well. But nothing he intended to eat himself.
Harry threw open his bedroom door to find Agrippa settled nicely on his perch. His aunt hadn't forgotten to open the window, then. That was good – Agrippa hadn't had to wait around in the garden.
"Hello, boy," Harry said as he dumped his things at the foot of his bed. "Have a good flight?"
The owl merely looked at him. Inclined his head.
"Well, fair enough," Harry said. He sat at his desk. It was far too early in the holiday to start thinking about his homework – or revision – but he didn't have enough time before Marge arrived to do anything out of the house, either. So instead, Harry picked up the latest Redwand novel and read through it until Marge arrived.
"Harry," called Petunia a couple of hours later. "Aunt Marge is here! And dinner is nearly ready."
Harry saved his place and then put his book down onto his desk. Face down, since the pictures on the front moved, and Marge was wont to go sticking her nose in where it didn't belong. After a brief check that he'd left nothing overly wizardy out in his bedroom – the live owl notwithstanding – Harry left his bedroom and thundered down the stairs to greet Marge.
The eldest Dursley was just getting inside the house, her dog Ripper yapping around her ankles. Behind her, Vernon carried an assortment of bags and packages into the house. Marge stopped talking as Harry approached.
"Gracing us with your presence this year, are you?" she said when Harry had reached the hallway. "Well, where's my hug? No kiss? No Christmas greeting?"
Harry paused. He didn't want to give any of those things to Marge. She smelled like dogs and old lady perfume, and her hugs were more aggressive than Harry felt a hug should be. But he couldn't refuse without causing offence, and it was the very first day of the Christmas holiday…
Harry stepped forward, mindful of Ripper, and got drawn into a bone-crushing hug by Marge. Bigger than Vernon, and stronger too, Marge Dursley was what Harry had overheard his aunt call a 'whole lot of woman' once. After an agonising half a minute Marge let Harry go, then turned to Vernon, who'd just about got everything inside and shut the door.
"And where's Dudley, then? Not here to greet his only aunt for Christmas?"
"Ah, well, Marge," Vernon said, "you know how Duds gets. He'll be off with his friends, I expect. Pet did say when you'd be here so he should be back soon."
Harry doubted it. Dudley had gone off with his friends precisely because Marge was coming. He didn't like her hugs, kisses, or dogs either. Although he did like her presents, which she usually brought along with her. But even Dudley had his limits.
"Take Marge's things up to the guest room, Harry," Vernon said, interrupting Marge. He gestured at Marge's copious baggage. "There's a good lad. I'll just nip to the kitchen to check on Pet, and why don't you get settled in the living room, Marge?"
Vernon didn't wait for a reply. He disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Harry with Marge, Ripper, and all of Marge's bags.
"I'll just, er—I'll get your bags," Harry said.
"Be careful with the big one," Marge said. "There's presents in there. And you can leave Ripper's food in the hallway—Petunia will sort that when she's ready." Then she went into the living room, Ripper following her.
Harry sighed. He picked up her bags, all the while thinking that Marge would have had an easier time of it than he did given her unusual strength and hauled them upstairs. Marge would occupy the guest room until after New Year's Day at the bare minimum, so she'd brought quite a lot of things with her. At least the big box of dog food got to stay downstairs. Harry lingered upstairs for a little while, unwilling to go downstairs and deal with Marge for an extended period just yet. There would be near enough an entire fortnight for that over Christmas.
While there, Harry grabbed a couple of photographs, tapped them with his wand to make them still, and stuffed them in his pocket. Marge would no doubt ask to see photos or something about Hogwarts, just because that was what she was like, and Harry did have some that were appropriate. At least, with nothing overtly magical in them, and once they were still, they looked just like muggle photos. So that was fine.
Harry lounged on his bed, flicking through his Redwand book for a little while.
But eventually, Harry had to go back downstairs. He couldn't stay in his room all night. So Harry waited until he heard Dudley slam the front door as he returned to the house. Confident that the attention wouldn't remain solely on him with Dudley there, Harry went back downstairs.
As Harry passed by the kitchen, Petunia put her head out the door.
"Oh, Harry—go and grab everyone, would you? We're ready for dinner now that Dudley's back," she said.
Harry nodded and slipped into the living room.
"Aunt Petunia said dinner is ready," Harry said. Dudley was in the middle of his own bone-crushing hug from Marge, while Vernon tried – and failed – to stop Ripper nipping at his toes.
"Just what I was waiting for!" Vernon said. He got up from his chair faster than Harry had seen him move in ages and brushed past Harry to head towards the dining room. Harry followed him.
Unlike their usual dinners, whenever Marge came to visit, Petunia set the proper dining table in the dining room. It was pointless, as far as Harry was concerned, as Marge surely didn't warrant the fine china nor a change in venue from the kitchen. But Petunia evidently thought otherwise.
Inside the dining room the table had been laid with all of the accoutrements that saw use – at most – five or six times a year. Maybe seven if Vernon had an important dinner meeting. The good tablecloth. Petunia's fancy and expensive china, all of which looked to Harry exactly like the less expensive and not-at-all fancy stuff they ate from at every other part of the year. There were even three large bottles on the table – one of sherry, for Marge; one of port, for Vernon; and the final bottle, a white wine, for Petunia.
Because apparently, Marge visiting was an occasion. Not that anyone seemed to enjoy it overly much apart from Marge and Vernon.
And Harry wondered sometimes about Vernon.
Harry sat himself down at the table. Petunia and Dudley sat along one side of the table, with Vernon and Marge at either end, which left Harry sat at the other side.
Perfect for him, really, as it meant he didn't have to sit next to Dudley and he could seat himself as far from Marge as the table allowed.
Which, admittedly, wasn't very far, but even the littlest bit of distance was useful. At least it meant Ripper wouldn't be close at all.
Moments later Dudley and Marge shuffled into the dining room and took their seats. Once everyone was settled, Petunia swept into the room and served dinner. Some sort of casserole.
"Beef casserole?" said Marge. "I would have preferred cottage pie."
Petunia said nothing, although Harry saw her lips tighten.
"Well, with everything I had to do today, I thought a casserole would be better—something I could put in the slow cooker while I got along with everything else that needed to be done," Petunia said a few moments later. "But we've got roast potatoes and the steamed—"
"I prefer mashed, but there's not much in it, I suppose," interrupted Marge. "Dudley, be a good lad and pass Aunty the sherry, would you?"
Dudley was slow to respond. Dudley was always slow to respond, unless it involved presents or sweets, but his movement was particularly sluggish that evening. A quick glance at his eyes – red and puffy – told Harry all he needed to know. So that had been where he'd got off to – smoking with Piers, Malcolm, Gordon, and Dennis. Assuming Dudley still hung around with them during the summer and Christmas holidays.
At least Dudley managed to pass Marge the sherry without knocking anything over. Harry didn't think he could deal with his aunt and uncle finding out about Dudley's drug use while Marge was in residence… even if it would be funny.
Marge poured herself a large sherry.
Everyone started eating, and a tentative conversation was struck between Petunia and Vernon.
"Vernon, tell everyone about your meeting this week," Petunia said. "I think Marge would like to know."
"Oh?" said Vernon. "Oh! Yes, yes. Of course. So, I was meeting with Terry McAlpine just before we broke for Christmas—"
"A Jock?" Marge said. "How unfortunate."
"Well, of Scottish extraction," Vernon said. "But he's as English as they come. Anyway, we were going over the numbers—he's an accountant, auditor, something like that, a numbers man—and we noticed there was a little bit of extra money in the budget. So naturally, once we'd accounted for everything, I was able to pay out a nice little bonus for all the managers—and a little something for myself! So we were thinking," Vernon continued, "about going on a bit of a special holiday in the summer. Safari—remember when Dad took us when we were kids? Kenya, wasn't it? Well, Pet and I thought it would be nice to take a family trip there. It was quite a large bonus, so I thought that you might like to come along with us—my treat! How's that sound?"
"Hmm," Marge said. "Well, we'll have to see about it. The Colonel's got the other dogs for me over Christmas, but a trip to Kenya… well. Maybe not. And as I recall Africa was frightfully hot, wasn't it? And the facilities… Well, we'll see." Her tone suggested the answer would be a firm 'no', which honestly, was the best news for Harry. An African safari during the summer sounded quite fun; an African safari with Marge in tow sounded nothing of the sort.
Petunia sipped at her wine.
"If that's what you think is best, Marge," she said. "It is quite far to go, and if your heart isn't in it, I'm sure the four of us will manage on our own. We just thought it might be nice, you know, remind you of when you and Vernon were little."
Marge made a non-committal sound and finished off her sherry. She poured herself another.
"Drink up, Vernon—you're falling behind," she ordered. She changed the topic. "So," she said, gesturing to Harry. "That school of yours. Must be very interesting for you to have missed two Christmases." It was almost, but not quite, a question. A statement that hung in the air, waiting.
"Er," Harry said. "Well…" He'd prepared for this, of course. He knew what Petunia and Vernon had told Marge about his first and second years. He'd gone over the official muggle-worthy excuses for Hogwarts. He knew all of that. It was just a matter of saying them to Marge in such a way that she didn't have anything to complain about. "In first year, there was just so much to do—you know, I had to learn Latin and all sorts of other things—that I needed to stay over Christmas just to catch up. And then last year was the Yule Ball because we had a—it was a special event thing. And because I was in the competition I had to stay behind, but honestly, I don't think anyone went home last year. Everyone was at the Ball. So really, this year was my first chance to come home."
"Well, at least they've got you doing proper subjects up at that school," Marge said. "Not like at that bloody comprehensive you used to be at. I don't know what you were thinking, sending him there," she said, glancing at Petunia and then at Vernon, "but I'm glad you came to your senses. Although that school he's at—Hogsorts? Spognorts?"
"Hogwarts," Harry supplied.
"Yes, that. I've never heard of it," Marge said. "Nor has the Colonel. I don't imagine it's as good as Smeltings, of course, but anything would be better than that Stonehall place. And you were in competition, you say? Not boxing, of course—not like Dudley. You haven't got the frame for it. Something like… football, perhaps?"
Harry had been about to say duelling and flying, but remembering the company, stopped himself. But he did have a proper muggle-worthy excuse for the duelling, at least, so he said that instead.
"Fencing, actually. I won a trophy. A couple. But they keep them up at the school," Harry said, "so we don't have them on display here." Only half true, as Harry had his own Triwizard medals, but Marge wasn't allowed to see those. The crossed wands from the duelling could be passed off his fencing sabres, but the broomsticks were quite obviously broomsticks.
And they moved, so that was obviously out.
"We watched his, ah, fencing finals," Petunia added. "Went all the way up to Scotland for it. It was very exciting. Bit of a different atmosphere from Dudley's boxing tournaments, but exciting. Wasn't it, Vernon?"
"Oh, yes," Vernon said. "Thrilling. Although nothing's quite like a good punch-up, is it, Dud?"
Dudley didn't seem to even register he was being spoken to at first. He sat there chomping on his food.
"What? Oh, er, yeah—boxing's really good," he said when he realised his father was speaking to him. "Much better than what Harry's doing—prancing about with wands and that."
"You mean swords, darling," said Petunia quickly. "And we're very proud of the both of you, getting on with sports the way you are. We've always said it's important to take part, and to see both of you doing so well…"
"Quite right," Vernon said.
"And your studies," said Marge as she poured herself yet another sherry, "they're going well? For the both of you?"
She looked over at Dudley first. Dudley didn't seem to notice. Instead, he helped himself to more roast potatoes.
"Well, we had a rocky year last year," Petunia said when it became clear Dudley wasn't going to say anything, "but his head of year put him on a new learning plan for this year, so we're all very hopeful for the GCSEs in the summer. Aren't we, Duddy, darling?"
"I s'pose," Dudley said. He shrugged. "I should pass English."
"And Maths, and Geography, and what about PE? Mr Hargreaves said you're doing really well!" Petunia continued.
Four GCSEs out of the twelve or so he was supposed to sit didn't sound like an especially good go at it to Harry, but then, Harry supposed it was Dudley they were talking about. And that was probably still better than either Vince or Greg would manage in the OWLs, so…
"Well, he's always been a bit better with the practical side of things, hasn't he?" said Vernon. "That Miss Newton said you've got talent for woodwork, didn't she?"
"DT, we call it, Dad," Dudley said. He paused. "Design and technology. It's not just woodwork any more…" He shrugged. "If I pass all those, that's enough to get me through to A-levels."
"Dudley wants to go to Loughborough University, you see," explained Petunia.
That was news to Harry. Although he and Dudley didn't have the sort of relationship where they chatted about their hopes and dreams, so that wasn't too surprising. The idea of Dudley at university seemed absurd, but perhaps that was Harry being overly harsh.
"I said I'd thought about it," muttered Dudley. "If I've got to go, I mean. I might not."
"Your father never went," Marge said. "Nor did I." She glanced over at Petunia. "You went, but I don't recall you ever doing anything with that degree of yours—so was it really worth it? Far better to focus on the business end of things, I'd think. So I wouldn't worry about It too much."
"Marge, sometimes in life it's not about what you get at the end of things," Petunia said, "but about the experience you have on the way there. For me, university was like that—a wonderful life experience that I'm glad to have had. If either of the boys—"
Marge snorted.
"Life experience is something you get from living, Petunia darling, not from sitting in dusty lecture halls!" interrupted Marge. "And if either of the boys do want to go, I'd hope they chose something a bit more useful than—"
This isn't going anywhere nice, Harry thought. Best to head it off before Marge said something that would really upset Petunia. It was the first day of the Christmas holiday, after all, and Harry didn't want it to start off on quite such a bad footing.
"I've got a couple of photos from school, Aunt Marge," Harry said quickly. He fished in his pocket and pulled out the photographs, then checked to see that they hadn't gone back to moving around. Fortunately, they were still. Harry shuffled his chair a bit closer to Marge. "See, this one is me and my friends at the Yule Ball last year." Harry handed her the photograph.
That seemed to shut Marge up, at least while she looked over the photo. Harry thought it was a nice photo: it had all of his friends in it, minus their dates to the Yule Ball, and had been taken by the official photographer in the castle's Entrance Hall. Of course, that meant Theodore was in it, but… he had been one of Harry's closest friends. Still would be, without the circumstances surrounding their little falling out.
"Strange uniforms," Marge said as she looked over the photo.
"Er, yeah," Harry said. "Well, because it was an official event we had to wear the traditional robes, see, and… well… Hogwarts is really, really old, so… that was just the dress code. You get used to it, though."
Harry shrugged.
"We don't have to wear those all the time, though. Those are the dress robes, only for special occasions. And this photo is of me and Tracey after our paired duel. Er, you know, for the fencing. Special event." Harry handed her the photo.
He didn't especially care for showing Marge the photographs, but they were a good distraction from whatever bile she'd been about to spew, and Harry knew Petunia would like to see them, too. And they were the sorts of photo that Petunia could, if she wanted, get framed to put up in the living room – there was nothing overtly magical in any of them. Not even the one of him and Tracey after the duelling since their wands were out of shot.
And anyway, Harry had copies of them so wouldn't mind losing them to his aunt's displays.
"The second photo is after our doubles fencing match," Harry said. "Weird uniforms again, I know," Harry said. "But I thought you might like to see them."
With some luck the combination of Harry's interruption, the photographs, and the weird but not quite abnormal details in the photographs would draw Marge's attention from whatever vitriol she had prepared. And if not… well, Harry had done all he could and dinner wouldn't last too long anyway. Then it would be a matter of sitting in front of the TV while Marge and Vernon reminisced about their childhoods.
"You aren't holding the little sword," Marge said as she looked over the photograph.
"Er… no," Harry said. "They took the photos without them. But this photo was just after we won the tournament."
"Pretty little thing, your friend," Marge said. "Where's she from?"
"Somewhere in Wales," Harry said.
Marge sniffed.
"Ah. A shame." She handed Harry back the photographs. "But that school of yours looks like a decent sort of place, even if it does have a ridiculous name. Not up to the Smeltings standard of course, but then there aren't many which are."
Well, that was Marge's wholly unqualified opinion. Had she ever seen Hogwarts – and Harry hoped he was never in a position that she had – she'd probably think otherwise. Smeltings was a bog-standard fee-paying school, whereas Hogwarts was a literally magical castle atop a hill next to a lake and a forest filled with magical creatures. Including unicorns. But Harry said nothing.
His interruption had done what he'd wanted it to, anyway, and the topic of conversation was now something other than barely concealed jibes at Petunia.
"Aunt Petunia, you can have these for the albums, if you want," Harry said. He passed the photos across the table. "I've got copies."
"How thoughtful, Harry," Petunia said, taking the photos. "I'll find somewhere to put them."
After that, dinner was a more or less pleasant affair, as Marge and Vernon distracted one another with tales of their childhood and everyone else was able to chill out and eat without having to face Marge's invective. And Dudley was able to grow slowly less stoned, which Harry thought was helpful for everyone, since he didn't need his first Christmas home ruined by his aunt catching Dudley on cannabis.
When dinner was over and the family retired to the living room, Harry wasn't even too bothered that Ripper was there. Or that Marge had become drunk. At least he could bow out around ten o'clock, citing his long train journey home as a reason to leave early for bed.
Over the next few days Harry didn't have time to relax. Between having to dodge Ripper and appease Marge's hunger for chit-chat, Harry had to contend with shopping with Petunia, too. Not that that was too much of a chore, to be fair, since it was only really a bit of walking around various shops in town and – one day at least – London proper. But it wasn't exactly relaxing.
Although it was still far more fun than having to deal with Umbridge and her Inquisitorial goons, so Harry didn't complain outwardly. And kept his inward complaints to a bare minimum just in case they spilled out.
At least there was that.
But by Christmas Eve everything had settled down and Harry was able to enjoy his first Christmas at home since becoming a wizard.
"Here you are, Dudley," Petunia said as they were gathered in the living room. She handed Dudley a soft, wrapped parcel and then turned to Harry with another. "Harry, here's yours."
The traditional Christmas Eve pair of pyjamas. There was no point to wrapping them, as Petunia had bought him and Dudley a new pair of pyjamas every Christmas Eve since Harry could remember… but the wrapping was part of the tradition, he supposed. Something for Petunia.
"I don't even like wearing pyjamas, Mum," Dudley complained, but opened the parcel anyway.
"Thanks, Aunt Petunia," Harry said. He'd be expected to put the pyjamas on, but he didn't mind much. It was a nice tradition.
"You boys go and get changed," Petunia said, "while I order us some food. Then by the time Vernon gets back with the film we'll be ready to sit down for the night!" She turned to Marge. "Marge, can I get you another sherry, or are you happy for now?"
"I'll get it myself, Petunia," Marge declared. "Don't trouble yourself."
Harry left them to it to go get changed. While he was upstairs he slipped Agrippa some treats. Vernon would be a while bringing the film back from the rental shop, anyway – and it would be a film for 'all the family', which in Harry's experience meant nobody but Petunia and Vernon would actually enjoy it… but that was Christmas, Harry supposed. Harry went back downstairs when Vernon got back and spent the rest of his Christmas Eve enjoying his takeaway, the Christmas film, and time spent with his family… even Aunt Marge.
Sort of.
And after that, it was Christmas morning.
Harry was woken on Christmas morning not by Dudley, as usually happened – at a far earlier time than Dudley ever got up usually – nor by Petunia because he'd overslept, but by the tap-tap-tap of an owl at the window.
Owls carrying letters and parcels were hardly unusual for Harry, but one so early on Christmas morning was pushing it a little. Still half-asleep Harry got out of bed to let the owl in, although after dropping its parcel on Harry's bed it left without stopping.
"Fair enough," Harry muttered to himself as he closed the window. Harry checked over the package. Bright green and silver wrapping paper covered it, complete with dragons wearing Christmas hats – although mercifully, didn't move. At least there was no chance of Marge seeing something she shouldn't with that. The handwriting on the label told him it was from Tracey. He supposed that made sense. With her younger brothers, Harry imagined she was up at the crack of dawn. Dudley had managed to stay in bed relatively late, judging by the time, but Tracey's littlest brother was about six, so Harry doubted they'd had much luck keeping him in bed.
Harry opened it. He could have saved it to open later, with the family, but it could easily be something magical that Marge wasn't allowed to see. And… well… it was sat there on his bed. A Christmas present. And it was Christmas morning, after all, so Harry unwrapped the parcel. Inside was a thick book entitled Practical Duelling Strategies for Sport and War.
"Nice one, Trace," Harry said as he read the blurb at the back of the book. Harry didn't expect to be doing that much more sport duelling, not with everything that was going on, but war? That was most certainly on the horizon. Although how much use a book would be, Harry couldn't say, but it was something to consider. A start.
Harry just hoped Tracey liked the gift he'd bought her – a custom-made brooch enchanted with a Shield Charm. Not only was it a very practical gift, Harry had even asked Daphne for style tips, so he thought it might even be something Tracey wanted to wear. While he was waiting for Dudley and the rest of the family to wake up, Harry took out a small scrap of parchment to scrawl a thank you note on it to Tracey, then set it down on his desk ready to be sent later. As it was Christmas, Harry assumed he'd be getting a number of gifts from his friends, so he didn't want to send Agrippa out with the thank yous too early.
But within half an hour Dudley was knocking on Harry's bedroom door. Harry knew it was Dudley without checking, since it was far too early for Vernon to be up and Petunia always prefaced her knocks with a gentle 'Harry?'. Dudley, though, just banged on the door like a madman.
Agrippa ruffled his feathers and gave a dark glance at the door, made a noise which Harry assumed was the owl equivalent of a harrumph.
"Alright, alright—I'm up!" Harry said. "You're just pissing off my owl."
"Who cares about your fu—bloody owl," Dudley said from the other side of the door, "it's Christmas!"
Harry got up from his bed and opened the door to Dudley.
"Let's get Mum and Dad and then we can open presents," Dudley said, turning around immediately to go towards his parents' bedroom. He paused. "And Aunt Marge, I suppose. I'll get Mum and Dad, you wake up Aunt Marge." He thundered away.
Waking up Aunt Marge on Christmas Morning was never the most fun of tasks, but it was one with which Harry was well-acquainted, as Dudley hated to do it. She always spent Christmas Eve drinking sherry with Vernon, and in the mornings…
Harry shut his bedroom door behind him and walked quietly towards the guest room where Marge stayed. He knocked gentle on the door.
"Aunt Marge? It's Harry—me and Dudley are awake and we just wanted to let you all know."
Honestly, at nearly sixteen, Harry thought he and Dudley were probably a little bit too old to get so excited over Christmas. Certainly they could sleep in a bit longer than they had… although a quick glance at his watch told Harry it was quarter to eight in the morning. A whole two hours later than Dudley usually got up for Christmas.
Guess he's a big boy, these days, Harry thought. Two years away really had changed things.
Although not Aunt Marge's post-sherry sleeping habits. Not a sound from within the guest room.
Harry knocked again.
"Aunt Marge? It's Christmas morning. I just wanted you to know we're getting up now," Harry said, this time a bit louder.
Marge stirred. At first only a low grunt, but then she spoke.
"Yes, yes, alright," she said. "I'll be down when I'm ready."
Harry shrugged to himself. That was enough of a response for him. By then Dudley had succeeded in waking up Petunia and Vernon – although Harry suspected Petunia, at least, had already been awake and waiting for everyone else – and he came rushing past Harry to get down the stairs.
Harry followed him.
Although they weren't allowed to actually open any presents until Vernon and Petunia came downstairs, Dudley always liked to get into the living room to scout out the gifts first. He'd got better over the years, but as a younger child Harry remembered he liked to count how many presents he had to compare it with the previous year. That had mostly stopped by the time Harry had left for Hogwarts, but judging by the truly massive pile of presents in the living room, he was no less keen on receiving gifts.
He just didn't count out loud.
"Mine will be over here," Dudley said, gesturing to the section of the living room most covered in presents. "I know because they look like the things I asked for. I can tell because of how Mum wrapped everything."
And by the sheer number of presents, Harry thought, but he said nothing. Dudley always asked for mountains of gifts, whereas Harry was always – had always been – satisfied with fewer things. Truthfully, he'd have been happy with only a handful of things, as long as they were things he really wanted, but that wasn't something Petunia seemed able to cope with. So although Harry's pile was smaller, it was still far from being small.
It was just padded out with things Harry didn't really want or need. But that was alright – Christmas was about everyone, not just Harry, and if it made Petunia happy to get him presents… well, there were worse things to have to put up with.
"Muuuuuum!" shouted Dudley. "Dad! Come on!"
That woke up Ripper, who until then had been snoring happily in his bed tucked away in the corner of the room. Mercifully, the dog didn't stir more than that, content not to greet either Harry or Dudley.
"Yes, Dudley, darling—we're all coming," Petunia said as she shuffled into the living room with her dressing gown tied tight and her slippers on. "There's no need to shout."
"So can we open presents now?"
"When your father and Aunt Marge get here," Petunia said. "I'm just going to make us all some tea and toast and then we can get started. I don't imagine your Aunt Marge will be all that quick getting down here after all those sherries she put away last night…" Petunia turned and left the living room.
Dudley shoved himself between the presents all over the sofa and sighed dramatically.
"What was it like, having Christmas at school?" he asked. "Can't have been that fun."
Harry shrugged.
"It was, actually. I mean, it was weird—different—but it wasn't bad. On Christmas Morning in first year we had a big snowball fight on the lake. The headmaster froze it for us, the Ministry arranged snow. So that was nice. Then last year, because of the Yule Ball, everyone stayed so it was kind of cool opening presents all together. And then there was the Ball obviously." Harry shrugged again. "But it is better being home, I think."
Even with Aunt Marge and Ripper about.
And having Marge and Ripper in the house at Christmas was part of it, anyway, so it wouldn't really be Christmas without them. Even if it might have been better. After five minutes or so Petunia came back into the living room carrying a plate stacked with toast, and she set it down on one of the side tables. Not long after that, Vernon shuffled into the living room looking a little bit worse for wear.
"Bit of a lie in, can't complain about that, I suppose," he said. He sat himself down in one of the free spaces in the room – his chair, which along with Marge's customary space, was the only place free of either Harry or Dudley's Christmas presents. "Just waiting on Marge then, are we?" he said, looking around. "Harry, be a good lad and fetch me some toast, would you?"
Harry got up and passed Vernon two slices of toast, grabbed one for himself, and then sat back down. It could be ages before Marge made her way downstairs, so he might as well see to his breakfast. It's not like there was anything else to do, anyway.
Dudley sighed theatrically. Started to tap his foot on the floor. Sighed again.
"Dad, when is Aunt Marge going to get up?" Dudley asked eventually, his voice edging into a whine. "It's Christmas Morning and everyone else has been up for ages."
"Well, Dudley, lad, we had a late night last night and neither of us is as young as we used to be… so… cut her some slack, eh? I'm sure she'll be up in no time at all."
Dudley sighed again.
"But it's Christmas Morning and we can't open any presents until everyone is here. And I really want to play my new games…"
"Yes, alright, Dudley," said Vernon. "If it's bothering you that much, go and knock for her again! Otherwise grab some toast and enjoy the morning."
"No need, Vernon," declared Marge as she strode through the living room door. "I'm up and about. Just waiting on Petunia now."
Ripper shot up from his bed as soon as Marge crossed the threshold and ran right to her, spinning around in circles once he reached her feet.
"Someone's happy to see his mummy," Marge said, reaching down to stroke Ripper. She grabbed herself some toast and sat down in her chair.
After a few moments Petunia came back in, this time carrying a tray with several cups of tea on it.
"Oh, good," she said. "We're all here! I think the boys can open their presents now, then. Harry, those are yours and—well, you seem to have both figured it out, so…"
"Thanks, Aunt Petunia," Harry said.
Dudley wasted no time at all and headed right for the smallest of his parcels, which Harry thought odd. Moments later, after the wrapping paper had been ripped from it and discarded, Harry realised why – he was looking for his computer games. Harry picked up a squishy package of his own and owned it gently. He knew what it was already – one of the new items of clothing he'd bought with his aunt after coming home for Christmas – but that didn't matter. Not really.
And so the morning continued like that, with Harry and Dudley opening presents while Petunia, Vernon, and Marge watched. Occasionally one of the three adults would open something too, but most of the focus was on Harry and Dudley.
Harry didn't mind that. For old people, it was apparently fun to watch children and teens open Christmas presents, although he couldn't for the life of him understand why. Harry was just glad there was nothing magical in his pile, nothing that had been sent by Sirius or any of his friends.
About halfway through Marge declared she was going to get herself another cup of tea and went into the kitchen to make it. After about a minute she shrieked.
"There's a bloody bird in the kitchen!" she said.
Everyone immediately looked at Harry.
"Er… Agrippa's upstairs," Harry said, although he knew that wasn't a very good excuse; it was probably still a bird for Harry. Silence. "I'll just, er… I'll just go and sort it, shall I?" Harry said. He put down his still-unwrapped present – a book, judging by the size and shape – and joined Marge in the kitchen.
A large, colourful, and very flamboyant bird of paradise stood on the kitchen table with a letter tied to its foot. Rodrigo, Sirius's favoured post bird. Marge stood opposite it brandishing a spoon, but Rodrigo seemed unconcerned. He let out a melodic trill as Harry approached.
"It's alright, Aunt Marge," Harry said. "I, um, I know this bird. He's… er…" Harry trailed off. How to explain Rodrigo, exactly? Marge knew about Agrippa, of course, and the muggleworthy excuse provided for his presence at home. But Rodrigo? Someone else's bird being used to send letters? "My uncle Dave uses him to send letters and notes, stuff like that. So, er, he's alright, I promise."
Marge didn't seem convinced.
"Your uncle Dave," she repeated, still holding her spoon out at Rodrigo. "Your uncle Dave, who sends letters using—using…"
"Birds, yeah," Harry said. "Bit weird, I know. But look, there's a letter on his foot, see? So I'll just grab it and then we can let him back out the window." Harry paused. "Why'd you let him in, anyway?"
"I didn't let him in," Marge said. "I opened the window to shoo it away and it came inside instead."
Harry nodded. That was fair enough.
"Well, sorry he startled you—sometimes I get letters from birds. Sorry. Someone should have said to you." Harry approached Rodrigo and took the letter from him, gave him a gentle stroke. "Thank you, Rodrigo," Harry said. He opened up the kitchen window, pushed it all the way out, and waited for Rodrigo to fly away.
The paradise bird let out a trill and flew away, back to wherever it was Sirius was living, leaving Harry holding the letter in the kitchen with Marge.
"Not heard of telephones, then, your uncle Dave?" Marge queried as Harry shut the window.
"Dave is, um," said Harry. "Er." He shrugged. "Unusual fellow, Dave. Well, now that's sorted I'm going to go back to opening my presents. Are you coming?"
The explanation didn't seem to help Marge in any way, but Harry supposed that was reasonable. It was a strange explanation of a quite unusual circumstance. Harry left before getting an answer. When he returned to the living room, all three Dursleys looked towards him.
Harry shrugged.
"Si—Dave sent me a letter with Rodrigo," Harry said. "You know, that colourful bird he's got. I explained and it's fine now."
"And Marge was… happy… with that?" questioned Petunia.
Harry shrugged. Whether or not Marge was happy, it was the explanation. She could live with Harry getting letters from strange birds or not – Harry wouldn't lose any sleep over that. And he hoped Petunia wouldn't either, but then she always was less able to ignore Marge than Harry.
"Ah, it's just a few letters," Vernon said, waving a hand. "No need to worry about all that right now—it's Christmas Morning!"
Satisfied that Vernon at least was unconcerned with Marge's introduction to postal fowl, Harry returned to opening his Christmas presents. Eventually Marge came back inside the living room although she said nothing about the birds. Fortunately, no more of them arrived while the presents were being opened, and the morning proceeded quite nicely. Once Harry and Dudley were finished opening presents it was time for the three adults to open their own gifts.
Usually, there was nothing at all in the gifts for Petunia and Vernon that they didn't already know about – all of Dudley's money came from them, after all, and Petunia did all of the gift buying – but Harry had snuck a couple of extras in that year. And Harry knew Dudley had actually attempted to buy his parents a gift without them knowing about it. Marge, of course, always received gifts that were actual surprises, courtesy of Petunia, naturally. The three adults opened their gifts and made all the usual sorts of appreciative noses at what they'd found – new socks for Vernon; a book Petunia had been hinting at receiving all year; a new pair of riding boots for Marge. So far so usual.
Then, Petunia opened one of things Harry had chosen. Something from the wizarding world. She unwrapped the long, rectangular package and smiled.
"Thank you, Harry," she said. "How did you know I liked this?"
"Dave told me you enjoyed Icewine," Harry said. "And it's from both of us—me and Dudley. Isn't it?" said Harry, glancing over at Dudley.
"Yeah," Dudley said. "Open mine next. Er, ours—but I chose that one." He pointed at a present Petunia had yet to open.
"Well, thank you both," said Petunia before she opened her next gift. She unwrapped a small box, then silently opened it to look inside. She pulled out a little certificate. "Oh, thank you so much, boys! This is such a lovely gift. Look, Vernon—the boys got me a spa weekend."
"It was Dudley's idea," Harry said. "He thought you might enjoy it, because…"
"Because you said about it when we were at the—you know that castle place in the summer for Harry's thing," Dudley said. He shrugged. "Harry said we should book for two people, so you could take Yvonne or something, though."
"Oh, well, this is just lovely, thank you so much!" Petunia said. "Isn't that lovely, Vernon?"
Vernon nodded and made all the usual appreciative noises.
"Yes, yes, lovely," he said. He paused. "Very thoughtful."
"It was, wasn't it?" said Petunia. She placed the certificate back into the box and set it to one side with her other things. "Open something next, Vernon."
Vernon chose the next of his gifts, and the morning continued like that until everyone had opened everything. That was the cue for everyone to separate – Petunia would disappear into the kitchen to do the cooking, with strict orders for everyone else to stay well away; Vernon would find a spot in front of the television; Dudley went upstairs to play games on his PlayStation; and Marge took Ripper out for his 'morning constitutionals'.
That left Harry wondering just what to do with the rest of his morning. It was early enough that he could probably still manage a little nap before lunch, although he didn't much want to. But two years spent at Hogwarts with a very different sort of Christmas Morning had messed up his routine and he wasn't sure what to do. So he hung around in the living room for a little while with Vernon, at least until the television got too boring, and then went back upstairs.
He had to check on Agrippa, anyway, and he had the letter from Sirius to read. And then no doubt he'd have to attend to letters and other things from his friends, so it was probably best that he retire to his room just in case any of them sent anything overtly magical along that Marge might accidentally see. Before heading back upstairs Harry gathered up his various bits and pieces – all the gifts he'd received – and took them with him. No sense leaving them out for his aunt to get flustered by the mess, after all, especially not on Christmas Day. When Harry entered his room Agrippa, snoozing, opened one eye lazily and give a bored huff.
"Good morning to you too," Harry muttered as he set his things down upon his bed. "I'll have some jobs for you in a bit, so don't get too comfy," Harry warned. The owl ruffled his feathers and went back to sleep.
Harry sat at his desk and opened his letter from Sirius.
Harry!
Happy Christmas! Bet you're glad to be home, eh? Especially with what's going on up at the castle? Absolute nightmare, I bet. Glad I'm not there to be honest – this Inquisition business sounds like it's getting pretty close to ruining Hogwarts altogether. But enough of that, eh? It's Christmas! Speaking of, I'll be sending over your presents later today. I didn't send Rod over with them this morning just in case your uncle's sister saw them (see, I do remember things!) but I'll make sure they come this afternoon, delivered to your bedroom.
And I was just wondering if you wanted to come over to my house for New Year's Eve. And you can stay until school starts, too. If you want, I mean. You don't have to come but I'll be having a little party—I know, how can I be having a party? Well, I am. A mutual Headmaster friend of ours is here, too, and there'll be some other guests who might surprise you, so have a think on it. Ask your aunt.
If not, don't worry about it. Hope you have a lovely Christmas Day,
Padfoot
Harry read the letter over again. Sirius and Dumbledore were living together – living wherever it was that Sirius had been hiding out. His family home somewhere in London, Harry knew, although didn't know where that was. Strange that Dumbledore would have gone to ground there too, as Harry assumed he'd have his own home or secret hiding place. But then, if the location was secure enough to house Sirius, the most-wanted man prior to Dumbledore's 'treason', it was probably suitable for Dumbledore as well.
Quite how that left any room for a New Year's Eve party was something Harry didn't understand at all, but between them, Harry thought Sirius and Dumbledore would have what it took to work it all out. Harry wanted to go to it, anyway, even if it was just a bunch of the Ministry's least favourite people sitting around commiserating. For one thing, it would get Harry away from Marge and Ripper for the tail-end of the Christmas holiday, and that was worth Marge's weight in gold; and even without that Harry reckoned he could do with a meeting with Dumbledore. Update him on Harry's occlumency progress, maybe even tell him about the Chamber of Secrets – and the basilisk it housed. If Harry could get Dumbledore to spill anything he knew about the Ministry's investigation into his supposed treason, that would be nice as well.
So Harry just had to figure out how to get his aunt to agree to Harry disappearing for the final few days of the Christmas holiday. Harry shoved the letter into his desk drawer. He could think about all that another day – it was Christmas Morning, and Harry had new books to get into. Not to mention sweets and chocolates and whatever he still had to arrive from Sirius and his friends.
So Harry spent the rest of his morning, and a decent portion of the afternoon, in his bedroom reading his new books. Occasionally he stopped to let in an owl, relieve it of its burden, and open up presents. But it was an easy enough routine to be getting on with, and it served him well right up until Petunia called him down for the start of lunch.
The rest of the Christmas holiday passed without incident. There were a few little snafus between Marge and Petunia, but nothing overly stressful for anyone involved, and Harry didn't even have any altercations with Ripper. In all, it was a good Christmas, and Harry was looking forward to seeing Sirius at the New Year.
Assuming Petunia allowed him to go after asking. Harry just needed to figure out the right way of phrasing the question, especially since it would mean that Harry alone got to escape from Marge and Ripper.
Not that Vernon would really want to 'escape' from his sister. He, for reasons Harry couldn't understand, actually liked the woman rather a lot. In the run up to New Year's Eve Harry kept an eye out for opportunities to ask permission to leave for Sirius's party.
"You never did say what you wanted to do after you finish school," Marge said to Harry one evening. "Before, when I asked." She waved a hand holding a glass of Firewhisky that she'd had from Vernon.
Harry looked up from his book. Usually, Petunia considered it rude for people to read or play games while in the family room, but she relaxed the rules somewhat at Christmas. Partially just so that she could 'get lost' in a book and not have to deal with Marge. He hadn't answered Marge's question because she'd been side-tracked into a sniping at Petunia, and Harry had used his school photos as a distraction.
A distraction which he had thought had worked, but it evidently hadn't worked well enough to make Marge forget about it entirely.
"Oh, er…" Harry said. "Well, I'm not sure, to be honest." Even if Marge was allowed to know about magic Harry didn't think he'd have a lot to say on that particular question. Voldemort was trying to kill him. Lucius Malfoy, or the amalgam created from Malfoy and the horcrux Voldemort, was trying to kill him. And the Ministry of Magic didn't seem overly fond of him either.
It was entirely possible that Harry wouldn't reach his seventeenth birthday, let alone finish school to think about careers and all that nonsense. Although none of that was really the sort of talk suited for a post-Christmas evening with the family.
Bit depressing.
But apart from all that Harry wasn't sure what sorts of things muggle boys his age were interested in being. He didn't play football, so couldn't say he wanted to be a footballer. Fencing, since that was part of the lie they'd told Marge. Perhaps he could say something about that. Or… alchemy was sort of like chemistry, so Harry thought maybe he could say he wanted to pursue a chemistry degree or something along those lines.
But that seemed like it might open up too many new avenues of conversation to be a safe lie.
"I think I'm just going to, er, you know, play it by ear," Harry finished lamely. "See how I feel when I've finished."
Marge gestured with her glass, sloshing the fluid around and nearly spilling it.
"You'll want a firmer plan than that," she said. "It's easy to just drift about doing nothing, but then what will you have to show for it? Nothing!"
"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Harry said, more to cut the conversation short than anything else. Marge had had quite a bit to drink and could become… argumentative… if not handled in quite the right way. Ordinarily Harry wouldn't mind, but he didn't have the mental energy to engage after the year he'd been having. The Christmas holiday was meant to be relaxing – homework aside – and he didn't want to enter into any verbal spats with Marge.
"Look at your parents," Marge continued. "I'm sure they were lovely people—I only met them once so I wouldn't know—but they mucked around doing nothing much and died with nothing much to show for it." She paused. "They had you, of course, and I'm sure they'd have been very proud of you, what with your sports and all of that," Marge said, "but—"
"My parents died in an—a—a tragic accident," interrupted Harry before Marge could complete her little monologue. "And they were really young, anyway. Anyone would look unaccomplished if they died that young."
And if their accomplishments were all hidden from Marge like Harry's parents' were. It stung to hear Marge talk about them that way, especially since she had no idea of anything. Harry felt the anger rise in his throat, but fearing he'd blow over, started to occlude instead. It wasn't that hard, as Harry was now practicing basic occlusions more or less constantly.
He hid the part of himself that felt angry at Marge behind his occlusion, tucked the memories and feelings and the everything else away. There was no sense getting angry at Marge: it would only ruin his evening, and everyone else's besides.
It did help. The anger dissipated and Harry was able to consider his response, and Marge's words, more carefully.
"Tragic," agreed Marge. "Gone years before their time. Not at all fair," her tone not at all warm. "But you see what I'm saying, don't you, boy?" she pressed. "If they'd been a little more nose to the grindstone, maybe they'd have left a bit more of a legacy. Footsteps to follow in, you know."
If only Marge knew. From beneath his occlusion Harry could see the logic in Marge's words, at least from her perspective. She knew nothing about Harry's parents except that they'd married and had children young, not long out of school, and died in a tragic accident. They'd never worked or achieved anything as far as Marge knew.
But that was all wrong. They'd fought in a war. Harry's father could have played Quidditch for England if he'd wanted to. His mother was a talented potioneer and charmer. They had both been loved and admired.
Marge knew nothing.
An angrier Harry may have said all that and more. Shouted it, more likely, caused a scene. Instead, Harry shook his head gently.
"I don't think that's quite right," Harry said. "My parents didn't need to work—my dad inherited a fortune from his dad—so they didn't. But that doesn't mean they did nothing—they had a family, they had friends, they were working on living happily. And that's more important than a job, isn't it? Family and friends. People who remember them, even if—even though—" Harry swallowed, the words caught in his throat despite the occlusion. He took a breath.
"Work is just something you do; it's not what you are."
Harry didn't think anyone had ever said that to him before, but it felt right to him.
"That's a very good perspective, Harry," Petunia said after a few moments of silence. "It's always nice to remember what's really important in life, which is family. Especially at a time like Christmas. Would you like another drink, Marge?" she asked, standing from her chair. "I was just about to pop to the kitchen."
"Twist my arm, why don't you, Petunia," Marge said. "I'll have another large—none of that Firewhisky stuff, bit too strong to keep at it—but one of my usuals. That'll do."
"If you're up, Pet," said Vernon, looking away from the television, "I'll have another Firewhisky, if you don't mind."
"Of course, darling."
"Mum, can you get me some Coke please?" Dudley asked, looking up from his Game Boy. "I've finished mine."
Petunia sighed.
"Yes, darling." She turned to Harry. "Harry, do you want anything?"
"Er… I'll come and help with all the drinks, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, getting up from his seat. A chance to evade Marge and ask Petunia about sneaking off to Sirius's New Year's party was too good to miss. Harry followed Petunia into the kitchen and waited as she busied herself getting all the drinks.
"You know, Harry," Petunia said quietly as she made Marge her drink, "you handled Marge very well. I know she can be a bit… difficult… at times. I'm sorry that she's—that she doesn't—"
"It's okay, Aunt Petunia," Harry said. He didn't mind. Marge was… she meant well, but her generally disagreeable personality and less than tolerant worldview meant she usually missed the mark. Behind his occlusion it was easier to see that, detached from the raw emotion a bit more. "She doesn't really mean it. I know that. She's just…"
"Marge," finished Petunia. "Yes. Well. That's very mature of you."
Harry shrugged. He was getting older, and it wasn't as if he spent all of his time playing with toys and living in bliss. There was serious shit going on that he couldn't get away from. But… his new-found ability to tolerate Marge's ill-considered jibes was probably more a result of his burgeoning talent at occlumency than at any kind of maturation. The Mind Arts had all sort of ancillary benefits, and Harry supposed the ability to think rationally was one of them. At least while actively trying, anyway.
"I'll just do drinks for me and Dudley," Harry said. He poured himself and Dudley glasses of Coke while Petunia fussed around with the alcoholic drinks. "So, er… I was wondering," Harry said. "Do you remember that letter I got from Sirius? He's invited me to his house for a New Year's Eve party."
Petunia stopped pouring and turned to look at Harry.
"A party? He's… well…"
Harry shrugged.
"I know. He said it does make sense though. I think it's a party with a bunch of the people who are in that group of Dumbledore's," Harry said. "And Dumbledore is there as well—that's where he's been living since the, er, treason stuff. So… I was just wondering… could I go? It'll be New Year's Eve, obviously, and New Year's Day I suppose… and Sirius said I can go back to Hogwarts from there."
Petunia sighed.
"I suppose I was hoping you'd stay for the entire holiday," she said. "But I suppose it's really only a few days at the very end…"
"And I need to speak with Dumbledore," Harry said. "I want to go to the party, but… there's stuff I need to talk to Dumbledore about and I can't just send a letter. So… it would be helpful if I could go. If not, I'll figure something else out. That's fine. But it would be easier, that's all."
Harry didn't think that Dumbledore would be willing to discuss anything important through letters, anyway, and with Harry's excellent progress in occlumency, Harry wanted to know more about what Dumbledore had been keeping from him. Going to Sirius's New Year's Eve party would be the best way of achieving that, Harry thought. And it was a party, so it should be reasonably fun.
Hopefully.
"I suppose you have been with us for most of the holiday," Petunia said, "and it is only a few days…" Harry watched her put away the bottle of Firewhisky, and then waited for her to get her Icewine. "As long as Sirius or the headmaster can pick you up discreetly, you can go."
Harry grinned.
"Thanks, Aunt Petunia! I'll let Sirius know tonight. I reckon either him or Dumbledore will come and Side-along me to the party, I'll just say they can't apparate right into the house because of Marge," Harry said. He didn't think the pickup would be a problem at all, though. If it really came to it and Marge saw anything, they could always obliviate her.
But Harry didn't think that would be necessary.
"I'll just take these in," Harry continued, gesturing to the two glasses of Coke he'd poured for himself and Dudley. He paused. "Or do you need any help with the other ones?"
"I should be fine, thank you, Harry," Petunia said.
Harry nodded and took the drinks back into the living room, and then settled back down to read his book. With something to look forward to, and with Marge having been distracted, Harry was able to enjoy the rest of his night rather well.
