Author's Note: Hel~lo sample subjects of Earth! 'I have returned', and with another chapter of My Aunt Hatty!
Author's Note Pt. II(Disclaimer): I own many things; a computer, a sleeping bag, the clothes on my back, a copy of a certain 1951 novel…But contrary to what the phonies have been spreading, I own neither Harry Potter nor the works of Howard Phillips Lovecraft.
Author's Note Pt. III(A Note About This Series): I dislike the Fantastic Beasts movies. I dislike their portrayal of Grindelwald. I dislike the lore they portray – which, in my opinion, was underwhelming. Now before you start throwing rotten fruit, allow me to explain what I'm trying to get at here. The Wizarding World of My Aunt Hatty, and all my BOG-connected HP fics in general, are essentially a culmination of the various fanon headcanons I've come across in my time on this site. What do I mean by that? Well, before FB came out, Grindelwald was largely portrayed as having started the Second World War using muggle puppets(i.e. Hitler & the Nazis), in order to weaken the muggle world enough for wizardkind to take over. This is true of the BOG multiverse – as is the factoid of Minerva McGonagall and Tom Riddle having attended Hogwarts at the same time. I've also created a magical aspect behind the First World War – a conflict that has been sorely neglected when it comes to Harry Potter lore. And the Troubles, because of course Voldemort had his grubby little mitts stretched across the Irish Sea.
Main Theme: Stray Cat Strut by The Stray Cats
Beginning Theme: Mister Sandman by The Chordettes
Secondary Theme: For What It's Worth by Buffalo Springfield
Ending Theme: Season of the Witch by Donovan
Location: Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England, United Kingdom of Magical Britain
Date: July 31st, 1993 AD
'Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum.'
'Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum.'
Harry James Potter felt his eyes scrunch up, then slowly crack open almost on their own. Morning already? He cast a blurred look around at his room, no, it was far too dark to be morning. What-?
'Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum.'
The doorbell? Harry rolled over and snatched his glasses up off the bedside table. Slipping them on, he sat up, throwing the covers off, and swung his legs over the edge as the unmistakable clicking sound of his relatives' door opening echoed faintly through the wall. Harry shot a look towards the small, cheap clock he kept atop his rickety desk, two in the morning…It was two in the morning? Who would be at the door now?
'Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum.'
Harry gave a sigh, well…it was his Aunt and Uncle's problem, not his. He removed his glasses, and set them on the bedside table as he tucked his feet back under the sparse covers. Pulling the smooth, warm covers back up over his shoulders, Harry settled back into the bed while the sound of heavy footsteps on the staircase began faintly thunking through the wall.
Whoever it was, Harry hoped they were in the mood for an earful, courtesy of his aunt. As he allowed his eyes to drift closed, Harry drew in a breath of cool late-night air, and shifted onto his side.
What felt like several blissful minutes passed, with each Harry drew closer and closer to glorious unconsciousness. Just as the thunks faded away, and he felt sleep sink its razor claws into him…
'Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum.'
A second passed. Then there was a great bellow from somewhere on the floor below. Like that of a charging mother elephant it reverberated up through the floor, echoing up the staircase and through his bedroom's thin walls. Harry cracked his eyes open as, after another second, a booming screeching voice that no doubt belonged to his aunt began shouting, the words made unintelligible through the layers of wall and flooring.
'Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum.'
Harry's eyes opened fully, were they trying to do his aunt's head in?
'Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum.'
They were definitely trying to do just that.
Harry rolled onto his back as the argument downstairs continued to drag on. Bloody hell, who was it? With a soft sound, Harry pulled his pillow out from beneath him and clasped it over his head to drown out the…whatever his aunt was screaming about on the floor below.
A second of silence passed, before a terrific bang caused Harry to freeze in place, it instantly silenced his aunt downstairs and rattled the doors on his wardrobe. He slowly opened his eyes beneath the pillow.
'Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum.'
"B-Boy!" Harry's aunt screeched up from the first floor. He could picture what the woman's face looked at that moment, an ugly purplish covered up by face cream, her small, beady little eyes narrowed to slits. What the bloody hell was she calling him for?
Harry sighed, and once more swept the covers off. Slipping his glasses on, he slowly stood from his bed and shambled towards his bedroom's door. He opened it and was greeted with Dudley's fat little face staring out from his room across the hall, his blue eyes glittering in the low light.
Dudley and Harry shared a confused glance. Harry shrugged, and began making his way towards the stairs, leaving his door slightly ajar. With a short few hops, he reached the first landing, and a few hops later, reached the clean linoleum laid out across the house's entrance hall.
Stood in the hall were his aunt and uncle, both huddled around the front door as if trying to block whoever it was ringing from coming in. Unlike what he had imagined, Aunt Verna's big chubby face, and most of her head in fact, were a distinct shade of gray pale beneath the layer of gray-green face cream.
His Uncle Patrick, thin, bony and horse-like as ever, just barely filled up the small gap in the doorway Aunt Verna's great beefy bulk failed to reach. One of the man's bony hands was perched atop his hip, clenched into a white-knuckled fists and pressed into the material of his pyjama bottoms. Whilst the other rested atop Dudley's old cricket bat, which Aunt Verna always had positioned next to the front door.
"What?" Harry asked tersely as he stepped foot on the cool linoleum.
Aunt Verna turned, immediately fixing Harry with a nasty glare that was somewhat-muted by the fact she looked absolutely-petrified, "You little monster!" She hissed in an accusatory tone, her small beady eyes narrowed and piercing as usual.
"Huh?" Uttered Harry in a dry tone.
Her lips pinching together, Aunt Verna's face turned slightly purple and that vein of hers appeared on her forehead, "I've had enough of this…of-of you!" The beefy woman hissed, "Here then!" She took a step to the side and folded her big meaty arms across her chest, "Here she is! One of your freakish friends come to visit!"
Harry's eyes widened as their late-night visitor was revealed. She stood taller than Uncle Patrick, in attire that made her resemble some sort of mantis, with large circular sunglasses and an entire outfit based upon the black and a dark grayish-blue colour. Not an inch of nearly-white skin beyond her gaunt but strangely-youthful face was exposed, even her neck was covered by a piece of black cloth. Fastened around her neck were no less than five necklaces, either gold or silver, and on each of her fingers was a shining ring.
Perhaps one of her most notable features was her black motorcycle jacket, a perfecto like the one Dudley had made Uncle Patrick buy, only to subsequently never wear it. Every inch of the thing was covered in badges and patches, the nature of which were not discernible in the darkness. Across her chest was slung a worn black leather messenger's satchel, which bulged outwards somewhat, obviously filled.
She gave a close-mouthed half-smile that warped the skin near her gaunt cheek, "Happy birthday Harry!" She gushed.
"You invited her, boy!" Aunt Verna spat as she raised her head, "Why don't you invite all your freaky little friends to call and come over every day of the bloody wee-!"
"Silence, Verna," The woman hissed, as a wand snapped quicker than lightning into her hand. She effortlessly brushed past Uncle Patrick and seemed to simply slide across the floor, with what appeared to be no foot movement visible beneath her tiered skirt.
Patrick slammed the door shut and locked it with a series of clicks. He leaned against it as Verna huddled into his side like some sort of fat blood-sucking parasite, both watching with horrified gazes as their house was invaded by an even freakier freak.
Harry stood rooted to the spot as the woman slid up and stopped, nearly a foot away. He suddenly felt very small in the woman's presence, there was an aura of sorts around her, powerful. And though her eyes were shielded behind those oversized sunglasses, it still seemed as if her gaze pierced into him, looking directly through his eyes.
She slid forward, and was suddenly touching his cheeks, her wand held in her thin, bony thumb whilst she cupped his skin, "Harry James Potter." The woman…the witch cooed with a slight but audible lisp, visibly looking him up and down as the half-smile became a full one, "Raia, you've grown so much!"
Harry jerked away from her, and hopped up a couple steps, his brows furrowing, "I haven't a clue who you are!" He grabbed the railing as his heart began thudding in his ears, icy dread pooling in his stomach as a thousand scenarios flashed through his head. She could have Voldemort on the back of her head for all he…well, she wasn't wearing a turban, but still!
"Don't you remember me, dear?" The woman spoke, and held her arms out wide, "I'm your Great Aunt!"
What?
"What?" Uncle Patrick uttered, his eyes widening.
"What?" Aunt Verna gritted out.
Harry stared at the woman, her half-smiling face, one moment passed, then two, three, four, before finally, "Ex-Excuse me?" He managed to get out.
The woman's smile fell, followed closely by her arms, "I take it you don't remember me then."
"No," Harry slowly shook his head, there was suddenly a very dry sensation in his mouth. She couldn't be, no one had ever, ever mentioned a Great Aunt.
"Well," The woman said, and gave a short nod, "It's quite understandable. You were only a month old at the time after all!" Her wand disappeared back into its holster quicker than it appeared, and she held out her long-fingered gloved hand, "Allow me to introduce myself, I am Henrietta Potter, your grandfather Fleamont's sister."
Harry frowned and chose not to shake her hand, "I don't believe you." He raised his chin defiantly.
Henrietta tittered and reached into one of her perfeco's pockets, she dug around muttering for a couple seconds, before finally withdrawing a frayed yellowish-white card one-handedly, "My licence to apparate." She reached into the black leather messenger's satchel slung across her chest, and a moment later withdrew a second card, "And my Grand British Wizarding Army membership card. Last time I checked, both contained my full name!"
Reaching out, Harry snatched the cards from her and hopped up a couple more steps. He gripped the rail with a white-knuckled fist, as he gazed down at the first card; along its right side was a wizard photo of what looked to be a much-younger Henrietta, whose little black-and-white face twisted into a warm smile almost-immediately.
Her black hair stuck up oddly in a fashion so much like his own, though hers cascaded down to her shoulders. Those same sort of sunglasses were perched on her nose, only these much smaller, and to top it all off, she was dressed in a set of odd, archaic-looking Hogwarts robes, the deep red-gold trimming, badge, and sash marking her as a Gryffindor, Head Girl in fact.
Harry's eyes flicked towards the great chunk of text running along beside the photo.
'Full Name: Henrietta Valentina Potter'
'Date of Birth: 30/04/1910'
'Date Issued: 21/04/1927'
'Sex: Witch'
'Blood Status: Half-Blood'
'Hair Colour: Black'
'MoM Certified Charm-Resistant Card Paper'
Harry looked back up at Henrietta, his heart fluttering in his chest, and nodded, "Alright." He walked down a few steps and held the cards out, "Then why haven't you been…here. And why the bloody hell has no one mentioned you?"
"I haven't been in the same country for more than a couple months since nineteen-forty-five," The woman, Henrietta responded, as she took the card, "Father…your great-grandfather Henry Potter, oft described me as a nomad. Does that answer your question, dear?"
"Only one," Harry spoke quickly.
Henrietta nodded, "Yes, that," She smiled, revealing the fanged nature of her teeth, "Now do tell me, have many mentioned my brother?"
Harry faltered, this was the first he'd heard of Fleamont Potter, his grandfather. He pursed his lips, but how did he know that was really his grandfather's name?
She could…his brain suddenly short-circuited as unbidden, a memory flitted across his mind's eye. The Mirror or Erised, the crowd of people he had seen reflected in it, his family. She was there, maybe less pale and showing a little more skin, but she had been there standing in the back, within the mirror.
There was a moment afterwards where Harry merely stood there saying absolutely nothing, his mouth hanging open in a rather-good impression of a confused Dudley. She…He had family, family that still lived and breathed? It was almost too good to be true…It was too good to be true. Could he have been misremembering? Then again, what even was the mirror's nature? How exactly did it conjure his family? For all he knew it made everyone in the crowd up!...Well, besides his parents.
"Do you remember this, Harry dear?" She suddenly said, breaking Harry out of his thoughts. Henrietta's wand snapped into her hand, she flicked it lightly, and near-instantly a stream of reddish bubbles floated from the tip.
Harry's eyes widened as they floated around him, each shining with a bright reddish light, he noticed all contained a trio of miniature silvery figures. A woman holding a baby, another woman, and a man. Harry's heart leapt into his throat as he registered the tiny pair of circular glasses the male figure wore.
"Wh…no," Harry let out a breath. One by one, the bubbles began to pop with identical bell-like tinkles, and he watched as they did, watched and watched until the final bubble burst. His mouth moved for several seconds but produced no words, Harry finally shook his head and swallowed thickly, "No, I don't."
Henrietta smiled warmly…well as warmly as she could with those fangs, "Sadly, not many children remember events from that age."
Harry gave a nod, casting his gaze downwards. His mind drifted back to his first memory, a high cold laugh, a flash of green light, "Shame." He murmured.
The woman, his great aunt, she slowly began to rise, floating upwards in a fashion that made it seem she was both weighted and weightless at once. The edges, fringes of her long skirt, her wimple fluttered in an invisible wind whilst she floated up to him.
In an instant, she was hugging him, and Harry found himself not really wanting to pull away, in fact he almost-unknowingly pressed himself closer. Her lithe but bony form exuded a comforting warmth, not unlike that of Mrs. Wealsey, but stronger, more familiar. It was like how he imagined his mother would've hugged him. His eyes slid shut nearly on their own as the woman hugged him, there was a small part of Harry that was horrified at how easily she had gained his trust, but he ruthlessly quashed it. After all, Voldemort, and most of his followers really didn't seem the sort to hug him.
The moment had to be ruined, it just had to be. Uncle Patrick took a bold step forward and rested his fists on his bony hips once again, he drew himself up, his long neck craning, "Now see here…freak," He paused, and drew in a breath through his large teeth, "Your kind may think barging into-"
Harry felt Henrietta carefully pull away from him and slide away. Opening his eyes, he watched as she soared back up towards the rafters, before rounding on the two Evans' with a whoosh that sent their clothes a-flutter. As she floated high above the ground, gazing down at his aunt and uncle, it seemed as if the air became thicker, like it were humid, but not moist.
At once the shadows seemed to grow long, the dark places in the house grew darker, becoming endless black pits, "What was that, dears?" She hissed in a saccharine tone that contained a near-visible undertone of steel. As Henrietta spoke, the air, the entrance hall began to fill with a terrible chill, as if all warmth were being drained away. It seeped into the marrow of Harry's bones, effortlessly stabbing into his flesh like spikes of solid ice, but still went deeper, the chill pooled in his heart, like his blood were freezing solid, "I'm afraid my hearing isn't what it used to be." She continued.
Uncle Patrick's bravery quickly fled, he quickly took a not-so-bold step backwards, "No-," He gasped, steam leaking from his mouth, "Nothing!"
A moment passed, then, "Good!" Henrietta spoke, and slowly floated down to the ground. As her slightly-tall Cuban heeled boots clicked against the linoleum, the cold began to fade, the terrible winter-like chill slowly faded away with each passing second.
Once the cold fully passed, its stranglehold on the house finally released, Harry let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding, what was that? He shivered, it was all too much, too much for this time of night, "Are…Are you going to take me away?...I mean, away from here?"
Henrietta casually began rolling her elegant silver-hilted wand between her fingers, she shot him a glance and smiled, "Of course, dear." A second later, her wand froze between two long, bony fingers, "Though it won't be quite that pleasant in the beginning, I'm afraid."
An indescribable feeling washed over Harry, like overwhelming joy mixed with terrific anxiety, "What-What's that supposed to mean?" He replied, and looked away from her.
"Don't fret about that now, dear. I shall explain everything and more tomorrow," Henrietta spoke in a warm tone and without missing a beat, she continued rolling her wand across her knuckles, "Now up to bed! Wizards your age need plenty of sleep to properly develop."
Harry cast a look towards Uncle Patrick and Aunt Verna, still huddled by the door. Both had a near-identical look of joyous fear in their eyes, no doubt imagining how Henrietta would either take Harry away, turn them into toads, or both.
"Go on, dear," Henrietta said, breaking Harry from his thoughts.
Harry gave a stilted nod, "Yeah." He managed to get out, and slowly made his way up the staircase and stepped onto the landing. As Harry walked around to the second staircase, he shot one last look back at the trio of adults.
Henrietta's wand was held upwards in a loose grip, a single finger propped against the wood. And she had turned herself back towards his aunt and uncle, both pressed yet further into the door. A second passed, then another, three, four, then five before words spilled from his mouth unbidden.
"What are you doing with them?" He questioned.
The pale woman shot a look over her shoulder, "Dear, I simply wish to know how they have been treating you."
"You have your wand out," Harry said matter-of-factly.
She smiled fully, and lisped, "Finding the answers to questions does not always require a verbal exchange, dear."
Harry frowned, he opened his mouth to say more, only to shut it with an abrupt click. Why was he concerned with this when he could be up in bed? Unconscious and unable to puzzle over everything that just occurred?
"Goodnight…Aunt Henrietta," Harry murmured, and quickly made his way up the second flight of stairs.
As he reached the second floor, Henrietta's high, lisping voice drafted up from the entrance hall, "Please, do just call me Hatty, dear!"
Harry paused just as he pushed open his bedroom's door, Aunt Hatty then. With the soft sounds of floorboards creaking beneath his feet, Harry walked in and shut his door.
Immediately, his eyes drifted towards Hedwig. The great snowy owl twisted her head around and stared at him with her big amber eyes. She was looking incredibly-pleased about something, and hooted, soft and low as Harry approached.
Harry marched up to his desk. He swiftly pulled a piece of stationery paper emblazoned with the logo of the Ashford Chemicals Co. from a pile on the rickety wooden thing. A 'gift' from Uncle Patrick, who served as the salt-manufacturer's Executive Director for Production.
Snatching up a ballpoint pen, Harry jotted down a quick letter, explaining about Henrietta, and rolled the paper into a tube once he was done. Hedwig gave a low crooning sound as Harry walked to her, "Take this to Hermione, girl." He tied it to her leg with a bit of string he had been saving. If there was anyone in Britain who Harry could trust to find out whether or not Henrietta was truly his great aunt, it was Hermione Granger.
Hedwig gave an unimpressed look and puffed herself up, looking away as if scandalised that he would ask her to leave at such a late hour. Harry's lips twitched upwards in a smile, "Come on, girl." He tried, and reached out to rub the area beneath her beak.
The snowy owl twisted her head around just so she could side-eye him, "You want a treat?" Harry tried again.
The owl…his mooching, extortionist of an owl gave a soft sound in reply and nipped affectionately at his outstretched fingers.
Harry let out a breath, but reluctantly opened one of his desk's drawers, revealing a small container of leftovers. He plucked up a bit of Aunt Verna's supposedly prize-winning chicken and held it out.
Hedwig daintily leaned out and plucked the chicken from his hand, giving a soft croon as she swallowed it whole. The owl cooed in delight and stretched her great wings.
"Ready, girl?" Harry asked, a smile forming on his face.
She crooned, suddenly looking very expectant there in her cage. Harry couldn't help himself, a short chuckle bubbled up from his throat as he made his way over to his bedroom's one singular window. With a soft creak, he pushed them open, allowing the cool pleasant, July air to flood into the room.
Hedwig hopped off her perch and beat her wings, she soared out of the window and off into the night, standing out starkly against the darkness. He watched her retreating form until she became a mere dot, and eventually disappeared into the night all together.
Harry's mind whirled as he settled back onto his bed, slipping his glasses off, and swept the covers up over his shoulder. He would just have to wait, sleep, but how could he sleep after all that? Sure, this was likely going to be solved once Hermione was involved, but at the moment nothing made sense. If he had a living relative other than the Evans', why wasn't he put with them…her?
But then again…Hatty was sort of odd. It felt disrespectful just thinking it, but the fact was undeniable. His Aunt Hatty was odd. From her appearance to her personality…the little of it he had seen. She almost reminded him of Albus Dumbledore, in that cognizant but slightly-mad way of his, only Hatty seemed a little more wild than the aged headmaster, more carefree. Certainly quite a bit more dangerous too.
With a short exhale, Harry shifted in his bed, she was dangerous, there was no doubting that. He thought back to that moment in the entrance hall, that chill, it was the coldest he'd ever been, so cold it almost felt like it burnt him. She was very-powerful, very-dangerous, and apparently on his side, so why had he never heard of her? Harry was sure someone would have mentioned that he had a great aunt.
He pushed out a breath, and grudgingly closed his eyes. This could all wait until tomorrow, he needed sleep, glorious comforting sleep. Harry drew in a breath of air, cool, tinted with the unmistakable fragrance of the outdoors. He slid his eyes open. Right, his window was still open.
A moment passed, ah, who really cared? Harry let his eyes slide shut once more. What a night. What a bloody, bloody night.
Contrary to what he had thought, Harry fell asleep rather quickly once he forced his mind to stop whirling. His dreams were plagued by visions of his parents, with odd sorts of scenarios scattered about. Hatty showing him a castle in the clouds, Potter Castle, his ancestral home. Hermione dressed in an archaic-sort of military uniform, her bushy brown hair sticking out from beneath a blue bicorn hat. Her hand stuffed inside a bright blue greatcoat as she explained something he couldn't for the life of him remember.
What seemed like only minutes after he fell asleep, Harry awoke with a start. His face was pressed into his pillow, a thin trail of drool leaking its way from the corner of his open mouth.
Harry rolled over and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. There was a slight tinge of something great in the air, something cooking, toasting bread mingled with frying eggs, smoky bacon and sausage, alongside the sharp scent of tomatoes being cooked. A faint scent of acrid smoke also lingered in the air, filtering up along with the scents of cooking. An embarrassingly-loud grumble seized his stomach as the terrific but faint smells washed over him.
A full English? Aunt Verna only made such a dish on special occasions. 'A big healthy meal for her strong precious Duddleydunkins,' she would say. Harry rolled out of bed and slipped on his glasses, was it daft to think he would get a taste? Most likely.
When Harry finally made it downstairs eight or ten minutes later, he found himself witness to an incredibly-odd sight. Aunt Hatty, dressed in a heart-patterned black and deep purple outfit, a burning muggle cigarette held between her middle and ring fingers, was sat at the kitchen table animatedly telling a story to a wide-eyed Dudley. It must have been quite the yarn, as his cousin's titanic breakfast laid out in front of him was barely touched, and the brand-new kitchen television blaring away about some escaped convict was left ignored.
"The Thuggee!" Hatty lisped, the overhead lights shining off her browline sunglasses, "Vicious devils, had to have subdued…I would say about sixty of them by the time I reached the ritual chamber!"
Uncle Patrick let out a disgusted sniff behind his morning paper.
Aunt Verna stood in the kitchen, cooking yet more food with a nasty expression on her face, "Rubbish." She grumbled under her breath, and cracked another big white egg into her searing frypan, "Bloody tart, filling my precious boy's head with absolute rubbish."
Harry sat down at the table, his nose wrinkling up at the acrid smell of tobacco smoke, "Morning." He spoke quietly.
"Morning dear – They worshipped a demon too! Nasty fellow, liked possessing children," Hatty continued, and brought her cigarette up to take a drag, "I dispatched it, of course. And on the bright side, I ended up getting a ring from the whole ordeal!" She flashed the ornate golden ring around her middle finger.
"Rubbish," Aunt Verna repeated, just loud enough for them to hear.
Hatty snapped towards the beefy woman, she crossed her legs under her skirt and promptly raised her hand. A silver-handled wand slid into her palm and near-instantaneously there was a flash of violet light, a soft crack, and Aunt Verna's head of freshly-curled dark brown hair turned a bright neon blue.
Henrietta's wand disappeared back into its holster faster than it appeared, quicker than lightning, and she calmly turned her attention towards Harry, "Sleep well, dear?" She questioned in that lisping voice of hers.
A memory, one of a curly pig's tail growing out of Dudley's rear end flitted through Harry's mind. He snickered lightly as Aunt Verna turned a fascinating shade of pale purplish, like gray porridge that had been given just the smallest amount of violet food colouring.
Funny, he imagined she'd have been screaming her head off about such a thing. Harry frowned, he'd also imagined Aunt Verna would be more…vocal, about her displeasure with Hatty's presence.
Nodding, Harry replied, "Yeah," He gave a short pause, then added, "Aunt Hatty."
"Are you hungry dear?" Hatty replied, and leaned towards him. But before he could respond, she once again snapped towards Aunt Verna, "Verna dear, how are things coming along with Harry's fry-up?"
Harry noticed the purple aspect of Aunt Verna's facial colouring drain away, leaving that simple pale, near-gray. The beefy woman looked down at her frying pan, "Just a few minutes longer!" Spat Verna.
"You really must learn to respect your elders, Verna dear," Hatty responded in a menacingly-saccharine tone. She gave a fanged smile, "How would your parents react, knowing you've treated a poor, feeble old rawni in such a disrespectful manner?"
"I'm getting a full English? From Aunt Verna?" Harry spoke, and cast a look towards Hatty, "I've never gotten a full English before."
Aunt Hatty gave a short titter, "I wasn't here before, Harry dear." She shot him a half-smile, "Besides, it's your thirteenth birthday! And, a good breakfast is the best thing to get the juices flowing!"
"For what exactly?" Asked Harry, raising a brow.
"Summer is a time for fun and a time to study, Harry dear!" Aunt Hatty gushed, she suddenly slipped her wand out and flicked it towards the door to the cupboard under the stairs. It burst open with a short intake of breath from Aunt Verna, sending a short spray of splinters outwards as the lock was ripped from the frame, and slammed against the wall.
Aunt Hatty's wand disappeared back into its holster, "I understand Hogwarts still gives classwork over the summer, yes?"
Harry's mouth fell open, "Yeah, b-but-?"
"But nothing, dear!" Aunt Hatty interjected, "Summer homework is very important for Wizards and Witches your age!" She leaned towards him, "Keeps the magic thrumming, you see."
Uncle Patrick folded up his paper with a furious sound, shot a glance at his wristwatch, and quickly drained his nearby cup of tea, "Maston's train gets in at ten. I best-better be off in a minute, Vern." He shot a nervous glance at Hatty, then stood from the table.
Maston. Uncle Maston Dursley, Verna's big bully of an elder brother. Harry's eyes widened, and he quickly turned to Hatty, "When exactly are we leaving?"
"Anxious to go, are we?" Aunt Hatty replied in a slightly-teasing tone.
"Yes!" Harry hissed in response, leaning towards her. But before he could go on, Aunt Verna laid a big plate of steaming food down on the table before him, a sour look on her face. She seemed to have gained back some of her courage, if the growing purpleness of her face was anything to go by.
"Listen, boy," Spat Aunt Verna, as she thrust a pudgy finger in his face, "We need to get a few things straight before Maston gets here." Her little beady eyes narrowed, not fully to slits, but pretty close, and she added, "Firstly-"
Aunt Hatty stuck her half-spent cigarette between her teeth and suddenly, gracefully and somewhat-daintily rose from her seat, causing the beefy woman's words to die in her throat, "Verna dear, I would very much appreciate it if you stopped speaking to my nephew in such a disrespectful fashion."
She slid across the kitchen tile, around the table and up to Aunt Verna. Hatty leaned down and whispered something into the other woman's ear. Harry couldn't make it out, but whatever it was immediately caused Aunt Verna's eyes to snap open and her face to turn a sickly shade of gray-green.
"...And I am truly glad you've finally decided to see things my way, jungla," Aunt Hatty finished with a toothy smile.
Harry watched as Hatty slid away from the beefy woman, "So…you travel quite a bit, right?" He questioned awkwardly.
Uncle Patrick planted a kiss on Aunt Verna's pale plump cheek, and squeezed past Hatty as he disappeared into the entrance hall. The sound of the front door clicking open, then clicking shut several seconds signalled his exit.
"Oh yes dear," Aunt Hatty responded, sitting back down at the kitchen table. She idly plucked up a cup of tea, and examined it before placing it back on the table, "In fact, I don't believe there's a place on this Earth I haven't been to."
Harry took a bite of fried black sausage, and raised a brow, "Egypt?"
"First time I went was in nineteen-thirty-six," Aunt Hatty replied without skipping a beat, she closed two fingers around her cigarette and pulled it from her lips, "The second and final in nineteen-fifty-six."
"France?"
"Of course," Aunt Hatty smirked, and exhaled a gust of smoke through her nostrils.
Harry paused, and looked down at his plate, a second passed, then, "India?" He added, looking up from his breakfast.
"Ah!" Hatty said, and leaned back in her chair, "India. The Land of Spices. Bharat. I spent a number of years there – it's truly a gorgeous country." She smiled fully, and shot a glance at Aunt Verna, "But on the subject of spices, you could stand to learn a thing or two from Indian cuisine, Verna dear."
A snort escaped Harry's nostrils. Aunt Verna looked ready to slap him with one of her big meaty hands, as she had done so many times in the past. But the beefy woman did nothing of the sort, she simply spun around and began washing dishes at the sink, muttering under her breath about 'Freaks.'
Harry looked up at Aunt Hatty, "You're very odd, you know that?"
Aunt Hatty gave a peal of laughter, she smiled warmly at him once the chuckles died down, "A muggle writer once said; 'insanity is a legal term, crazy is an art form.' I like to think of myself as an artist specialising in the latter." She gave a great wide grin, "But I also have several helpings of the former, of course."
"…In other news," Spoke the newscaster in the background, "Melek the Eurasian Black Vulture has once more been spotted in Britain after eleven years without a visit. Many will know her as the well-travelled raptor who made headlines when first spotted over Birmingham in nineteen-seventy-four…"
For some reason, this made Aunt Hatty burst into a fit of giggles.
It took Harry nigh on forty minutes to fully finish the massive plate of food, he'd never eaten so much outside of Hogwarts in his life. By the time the last fried tomato disappeared down his throat, the bright blue of Aunt Verna's hair had faded, returned to its original dark brown colour. Additionally, Hatty had cracked open his trunk and now flipped lazily through a copy of Gilderoy Lockhart's Wanderings with Werewolves.
Harry gave a light groan as he pushed the thoroughly-cleaned plate away, "Aunt Hatty?" He spoke.
"Yes, dear?" Hatty replied, looking up from the book.
"Why didn't you come back after my parents were…were murdered?" Harry questioned abruptly.
Aunt Hatty shut the book with a snap, "Well," She paused, then tapped her chin with a single finger, "It's a very long story, dear."
"You said you'd explain everything today," Harry pointed out.
"Yes, I did say that, didn't I?" Hatty smiled, and leaned back in her chair. She laced her long bony fingers together, "Well, have you ever heard of Durgesh, dear?"
Harry frowned, "Can't say I have."
"Durgesh is a magical fortress located in the Himalayan mountains," She explained, and calmly began to re-pack Harry's trunk, "Built directly into a mountain by worshippers of Chaalnek, the great Demon-God of bloodshed in wizarding folklore." Hatty tucked the Gilderoy Lockhart collection back into his trunk, paused, then looked up at him, "Are you done reading these adventure novels, dear?"
"Those were last year's Defence textbooks," Harry replied dryly, "I just haven't had a chance to get rid of them." He narrowed his eyes, "What were you saying about that place, Durgesh?"
Hatty frowned, and calmly tossed the books aside as they disintegrated into ash. She gave a tut of displeasure as this revealed a pair of Uncle Patrick's socks, last year's Christmas present from the Evans. With a flick of her wand, Aunt Hatty vanished them, and looked back up at Harry, "I shall give you the short version, in 'eighty-one, I became trapped within it. Truly a dreadful place, had a seemingly-endless supply of undead to throw at me." She pursed her lips, and looked down, "My escape ended up being ten years in the making, and I had to battle the fortress the whole way, all the creatures and twisted monsters it threw at me," She shrugged, "I only managed to get out last Christmas, sorry to say."
Harry stared at his Aunt Hatty, and stared and stared. It sounded utterly unbelievable, the tale she had just spun. Strangely-flippant in tone and unbelievable, but oddly understandable, considering everything of the Wizarding World he had seen so far. A magical fortress that trapped people within itself didn't seem too out of place in a world that contained giant thousand-year-old snakes and undead Dark Wizards.
"Alright then," He finally managed to get out.
Aunt Hatty closed up his trunk with a snap and flipped it upwards, "Harry dear, why don't you go upstairs and get the odds and ends out of your room?"
"We're leaving?" Harry questioned, his eyes widening. He jolted up in his chair as his lips twitched upwards.
"Once you gather your things, dear," Hatty replied with a smile. The old witch gestured towards the door to the entrance hall, "Now quick-quick, we haven't much time until the grai gets back!"
Harry's heart soared. He tore out of the kitchen and made it up the small home's staircases in record time. Harry pushed open his bedroom door and got on his hands and knees. He quickly scrambled under the bed, and wrenched open the loose floorboard beneath. With a soft sound he withdrew the pillowcase containing his books and birthday presents.
Snatching Hedwig's empty cage up, Harry barrelled out of his room and down the staircases. The last few steps he skipped with a short hop, and landed on the linoleum, breathing heavily.
"Record time," Aunt Hatty said, as she slid to a stop beside him. She placed his trunk on the floor, and looked him up and down; from his baggy gray T-shirt to his baggy blue jeans and scuffed trainers, "Raia, we really must get you some proper robes, dear."
The old witch paused, and tapped a finger against her pointed chin, looking down at his feet, "Perhaps some of your father's old clothing might fit you." She murmured.
Harry perked up, "You-You have my Father's stuff?" He questioned.
"I cannot promise anything in that regard, Harry dear," Aunt Hatty warned, as she raised a hand, "The Potter family home has, to my knowledge, been vacant and sealed for over fifteen and a half years. I myself haven't stepped foot inside since 'seventy-four." She shook her head softly, sending her black wimple a-flutter, "And I understand your father moved out after my brother and his wife passed."
Harry nodded, and rubbed the back of his neck, "Where…Where is it, might I ask?"
"Birmingham," Hatty responded as she slid towards the door, "To be quite honest, the old place may be beyond recovery at this time. Not fully, but enough that it might be uninhabitable…At least until a few house-elves can be obtained." She paused, "That is if old Gilby and Nankey aren't still around."
With a soft click, Harry opened his trunk and dropped the pillowcase inside. He glanced up at Aunt Hatty as she opened the door, and quickly withdrew his wand from the trunk before shutting it with a click. Picking his trunk up, Harry placed his wand in his back pocket and walked forward.
"How exactly are we getting there?" Harry questioned as he hauled his trunk through the front door.
Aunt Hatty looked back at him with a smile, "I'm going to call upon an old friend." She slid down off the cement and onto the lawn, committing a grievous sin in Aunt Verna's book, "I do hope you have a strong stomach, dear!"
What was that supposed to mean? Harry frowned lightly, and followed Hatty's example in walking across Aunt Verna's lush green lawn. He glanced up at Hatty, "What…What exactly do you mean by that?"
Aunt Hatty gave a titter in reply, "What I mean, dear, is the pinnacle of wizarding transport!" She shot him a glance, "Charmed muggle vehicles!"
Harry paused as a memory of being thrown out of a blue Ford Anglia flitted across his mind's eye. He drew in a short breath, "I thought charming muggle stuff was against the law?"
"It isn't," Hatty retorted as she reached the small fence separating Verna's lawn from the sidewalk, "If one has a licence…a very hard to obtain licence, but a licence nonetheless." With a soft whoosh, she rose up and over the fence. Her boots struck the cement sidewalk with twin clicks as she descended, "Only two people in all the British isles can legally charm muggle artefacts."
"And this…person you're calling – they're one?" Harry questioned as he
heaved his trunk over the fence.
Raising her hand, that long, engraved silver-handled wand slapped into Aunt Hatty's palm, "Dear, I wouldn't be calling him if he was not." She flicked it upwards, "Lumos."
Harry opened his mouth to reply, but flinched when an ear-splitting bang akin to a car backfiring rang through Privet Drive. A moment passed, then another, and before his very eyes, a great triple-decker bus appeared from thin air. Rolling to a stop with a creak of its breaks.
Vibrantly purple, it was decorated with gold lettering above the windshield. 'The Knight Bus,' it read. Harry stared, well, it certainly looked a bit more…professional than the Anglia.
In an instant, the bus' side door sprung open and out popped a lanky pimply purple-clothed conductor. The young man quickly pulled a rather greasy-looking notepad out of his tunic.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus-" The pimply young man started in a very-rehearsed tone.
"Yes-yes-yes," Aunt Hatty interrupted as her wand slid back into her sleeve and she pulled a small rainbow tie-dye coin purse from her leather satchel, "No offence, dear, but I've heard that speech so much I now know it by heart." She pried open the purse with a clinking from its contents, "Now how much does a ride to south Birmingham cost these days?"
The conductor merely stared at Aunt Hatty, his mouth frozen mid-word – Harry didn't blame him. After a moment, the young man seemed to snap out of it, "Erm…" He shook his head, "Well-uh, Birmingham's twenty Sickles, ma'am."
"Raia," Aunt Hatty let out an odd sort of noise, like a cross between a huff and a scoff, and pulled out two big gold Galleons, "Just keep the extra, dear – and give us some hot chocolate." With a small downturn to her mouth she slapped the coins into the young man's hand.
Looking from the coins, to Hatty, and back, the conductor's eyes steadily narrowed. Finally, his gaze settled on Hatty, "Woss your name?" He asked in a voice laden with confusion.
"Henrietta Potter," Replied Hatty without skipping a beat, "Now shall we go in? My old bones are currently screaming for a bed."
An odd sort of laugh escaped the conductor's lips, "Never heard of 'er." A pause, "We?" He questioned in a dull tone.
"Well, you must know my nephew, Harry," Aunt Hatty spoke with a slowly-growing fanged smile, "I understand he's become somewhat of a celebrity in the time I've been out of the country."
Harry stepped up to the bus, feeling his cheeks grow warm at his aunt's mention of his fame, "Hello." He greeted simply, before placing his trunk and Hedwig's cage down on the cement.
The conductor's narrowed eyes went wide as Harry stepped into the light, and his mouth flailed for a second before, "'Arry Potter. Good merlin, 'choo doing out here?"
"Albus Dumbledore placed my dear nephew with muggles," Hatty replied, her face twisting into a vicious fanged grin, "Can you believe such a thing?"
Harry felt himself frown slightly at the way she said 'muggles.' The word had a certain amount of venom to it – but was she talking about the Evans or muggles in general?…He pursed his lips, maybe he was just seeing something where there was nothing.
"Muggles?" The conductor echoed.
"Yes dear, muggles," Said Aunt Hatty as her smile took on a rather cruel edge.
Merlin, she absolutely had something against muggles. Harry worried his bottom lip between his teeth – she certainly didn't like muggles, but what about the muggleborn, what about Hermione? He let out a short breath, well, everyone has at least one racist family member.
The conductor hopped down from the bus with a smile and grabbed up Harry's trunk, "Well, jus' go ahead and get yourself settled, Mister Potter. Lemme get those for you there."
Harry felt his cheeks heat up once again, "Uh, right." He managed to get out.
Glancing over at Hatty, Harry suddenly found himself witness to a pair of things that made his stomach drop straight through his trainers. His mind registered the drab silvery-gray of Uncle Patrick's new company car as it rounded the corner of Privet drive in the distance first. Following closely second was the great, bulky figure sat in the passenger's side.
Uncle Maston had always resembled a certain walrus Harry had seen once at the zoo. Fat and moustachioed, like Aunt Verna's elder brother it too had been a great big bully, though was sorely missing the pet hellhound.
Harry snapped towards Hatty, "A-Aun-?" He started.
"On the bus, dear," The old witch interrupted with a soft touch to his shoulder, all the while still remaining faced away and in what Harry realised was directly towards the oncoming car.
"But-?" Harry started, looking from Hatty to the car, and back.
The old witch shot him a suddenly-warm smile, and brought a hand up to caress his cheek, "Get on the bus, dear." She said in a firm tone, "Introduce yourself to the driver while you're at it – he's a very old friend of mine."
Harry paused and drew in a breath, before giving Uncle Patrick's car one last glance. But with a reassuring nod from Hatty, he turned and made up the small staircase. As he stepped into the bus' bed-filled interior, almost-immediately, Harry practically glued himself to the nearest window to watch the unfolding scene outside.
It only took mere seconds for the company car to pull into the Number Four's driveway, and a few more after that for the doors to spring open. The car rocked violently as Maston Dursley exited, a great beige dog crate held in his pudgy grip.
From the driver's side, Uncle Patrick rounded the car's front end with a certain troubled air about him – he had a look Harry found very familiar in the man, almost like a frightened rabbit.
A mere second later, the bony man visibly froze when Aunt Hatty suddenly came sliding towards him and Maston. Harry caught glimpses of his horsey teeth as his mouth opened and closed helplessly. Uncle Patrick never had done well with the unexpected.
Sliding to a halt, Aunt Hatty visibly clasped her gloved hands together, her jaw moving in soundless speech.
In an instant, Harry witnessed Maston's face begin to turn that same purplish colour he had seen so much in Aunt Verna. He slowly placed Ripper's crate down on the cement as his moustache bristled with apparent anger.
Uncle Patrick's lips moved while his wide-eyed gaze flickered from Maston, to Hatty, and back. He was looking more and more like that scared rabbit with each passing moment.
Maston's piggy little eyes visibly narrowed to slits in much the same fashion as his sister. Fat mouth twisting into an ugly scowl beneath his great dark moustache, he said something that made Uncle Patrick go a funny gray colour.
Aunt Hatty unclasped her hands, and with a nod and a soundless word she began removing the rings on her right hand one by one.
Uncle Patrick went grayer and grayer as Maston's mouth continued moving without sound. All the while, Hatty merely kept removing ring after ring, until only the black leather glove remained. She too removed that, before slipping it and the rings into the pocket of her motorcycle jacket. The skin of his Aunt's hand was just as pale as the skin of her face.
Harry felt his eyes widen as she proceeded to remove a small pocket knife from her jacket. At this, Maston finally seemed to stop talking, the purple in his face fading away slightly.
Aunt Hatty visibly flicked open the pocket knife and brought her hand up, palm open and facing upwards. Harry's eyes widened even more as she cut a gash into her palm, and began speaking soundlessly.
Uncle Patrick went white as a sheet.
Maston turned that same gray-purple Verna had at breakfast.
Hatty surged forward.
And Harry watched as her boots rose mere inches off the cement, and she flew towards the two men. Within seemingly less than a second, she smeared her blood first down the front of Maston's jumper, then the front of Patrick's shirt. All the while, her jaw continued to move.
Harry felt his jaw drop open as she suddenly disappeared in an explosion of fire, only to reappear in an identical explosion at the front door of Number Four. Aunt Hatty, her jaw still moving, painted the wood with a sticky red stripe, before once again disappearing in an explosion of flame.
What the bloody hell was all that?
She reappeared at the door of the Knight Bus, already in the process of slipping her right glove back on.
The teen surged away from the window, "What did you do?" Harry demanded as Aunt Hatty made her way up the stairs and into the Knight Bus.
Hatty gave a warm smile, and reached out a freshly-gloved hand towards his cheek, "Oh, dear, don't you worry-"
Harry flinched away from her touch, "N-No," He said, shaking his head, "I want to know what you've done to them, now."
Aunt Hatty's smile lessened and she tilted her head to the side just ever so slightly, "Dear," She started in a calm, warm tone, "You have to understand, those…muggles – they treated you-"
"Yeah, they didn't treat me well." Harry interrupted with a humourless laugh, "So you…what? You-You curse them? Was that what you did?!"
She paused and pursed her lips, "...An elementary blood curse," Hatty finally admitted in a low tone, "Intended simply to cause lifelong misfortune, nothing more." Harry opened his mouth to argue his point, voice his displeasure, anything, only to be swiftly cut off as Aunt Hatty continued, "However, this is not the correct place to be speaking of such things. But rest assured, we will talk on this later, dear."
Harry drew in a calming, albeit somewhat-shaky breath. This was all too much…a blood curse? He chewed on his bottom lip, before giving a nod, "Yeah, we will." Aunt Hatty reached out once more, Harry flinched away again, "Just," He spoke, "Let's just go…Aunt Hatty."
A look of hurt flickered across his great aunt's face, and she slowly lowered her arm, "Well," Hatty said softly, her lips twitching downwards, "We do have a long trip ahead, dear."
Harry gave a frown – he would be in denial if he said that didn't make him feel like a prat. But a blood curse? That sounded like the sort of magic Vol…no, he couldn't even think of that, not that way. Hatty was taking him away from people who made him sleep in a cupboard for the first eleven years of his life – she wasn't evil, she couldn't be evil.
Glancing over at Uncle Patrick and Maston, Harry found a scene of disarray. Aunt Verna was now on the scene and soundlessly screaming her head off, her face purpled, her hand clutching a kitchen towel covered in red blood. The two men meanwhile, appeared to be having an argument – or rather a campaign of berating carried out by Maston upon Uncle Patrick.
But them? They were certainly evil.
Uncle Patrick, so envious and spiteful towards his long-dead sister. Aunt Verna, the intolerant, hateful woman he married. Uncle Maston, everything his little sister was and more. Why was Harry even defending them? Did they not deserve at least some of what Hatty apparently gave them?
Harry gave a sigh, and shook his head, walking back into the bus he took a seat on one of the many brass-framed beds across its interior. He glanced up, Aunt Hatty still stood by the door, her face turned away, towards the Knight Bus' wizened driver.
A small part of him deep down knew the answer for certain. Yes, the Evans, Maston Dursley, they all truly deserved a lifetime of misfortune. Harry drew in a breath and glanced up at Hatty, and they certainly weren't worth sabotaging a relationship with perhaps the only remaining member of his family.
Harry pursed his lips, and opened his mouth, "Au-Aunt Hatty?" He called.
She whirled about, a slight but warm smile growing on her face, "Yes, dear?"
"You…said something about hot chocolate?" Harry spoke with a slight smile of his own.
He would be in denial if he said Hatty's resulting, joyous grin didn't warm somewhere deep in his chest.
To Be Continued
Author's Note Pt. IV(Final): There we go gentlemen, gentleladies, gentlepeople, we are at the end of the second installment of the My Aunt Hatty saga. I truly hope all you folks out there enjoyed it; and if you did please follow, favourite, bookmark, leave kudos, comment, any of those!...But comment especially…well go on, comment. Come on comment, comment, what are you chicken?
